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'S  YOU   I.IKE  IT 


BY 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPKARE 


[ERIO^N   •   BOOK      COMPANY 
NEW  YORK-  CINCINNATI    r^MlCAGO 


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ECLHCTICENGUSH  CLASSICS  ^-^ 


'/ 


THE  COMEDY 


OF 


AS  YOU   LIKE  IT 


BY 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


NEW  YORK    •  :  •    CINCINNATI    •  :  •    CHICAGO 

AMERICAN    BOOK   COMPANY 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
American  Book  Company. 

AS    YOU   LIKE    IT. 
W.   P.   12 


YBU 


INTRODUCTION. 


"  As  You  Like  It "  was  on  the  stage  as  early  as  the  year 
1600,  but  was  not  in  print  till  it  appeared  in  the  first  collection 
of  Shakespeare's  plays,  published  in  1623  and  known  as  the 
"  First  Folio." 

The  comedy  is  founded  on  a  novel  by  Thomas  Lodge, 
printed  in  1590  under  the  title  of  "  Rosalynde,  Euphues' 
Golden  Legacie." 

Shakespeare  borrows  names  and  incidents  from  this  story,  but 
the  characterization  is  his  own ;  and  his  creative  genius  has  sur- 
rounded "  a  rather  heavy  and  commonplace  tale  with  an  atmos- 
phere of  graceful  romance,  resulting  in  a  play  the  charming 
animation  and  grace  of  which  have  made  it  the  delight  of  all 
readers,  young  and  old." 

The  action  of  "  As  You  Like  It "  is  wholly  in  the  open  air, 
and  the  drama  is  redolent  of  woods  and  green  fields  and  all  the 
charms  of  a  pastoral  and  rustic  life.  After  the  first  act  its  inci- 
dents are  for  the  most  part  in  the  Forest  of  Arden,  where  a  Duke, 
dispossessed  of  his  title  and  dukedom  by  Frederick,  a  usurping 
younger  brother,  is  hving  in  banishment  in  the  company  of  many 
friends  and  adherents.     Here,  in  genial  comradeship,  enlivened 

3 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

by  the  songs  of  the  tuneful  Amiens,  and  entertained  with  the  sen- 
tentious philosophizing  of  "  the  melancholy  Jaques,"  —  a  traveled 
courtier,  highly  appreciated  by  the  Duke,- — they  "fleet  the  time 
carelessly"  as  in  the  golden  age,  and,  "exempt  from  public 
haunt,"  find 

"  Tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 

The  play  opens,  however,  in  a  garden  near  the  house  of 
Ohver,  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  Rowland  de  Bois,  where  we  learn 
from  a  conversation  between  Orlando  and  Adam  —  an  old  ser- 
vant of  the  family — that  Sir  Rowland,  at  his  death,  bequeathed 
his  possessions  to  his  three  sons,  of  whom  Orlando  is  the  young- 
est, leaving  the  management  and  distribution  of  the  estate  to 
Oliver.  The  latter  is  also  charged  with  the  training  of  Orlando, 
but  entertains  a  groundless  and  unnatural  hatred  for  him,  treat- 
ing him  with  the  utmost  indignity,  withholding  his  inheritance, 
and  denying  him  the  education  fitting  his  birth. 

While  Orlando  and  Adam  are  talking,  OHver  enters,  and  a 
violent  quarrel  ensues  between  the  brothers.  Exasperated  by 
the  contemptuous  taunts  of  Ohver,  Orlando  seizes  him  by  the 
throat,  and  they  are  only  separated  through  the  intervention  of 
Adam.  When  he  and  Orlando  go  out,  Charles,  a  noted  wrestler, 
one  of  Duke  Frederick's  retainers,  comes  in  to  advise  Oliver  to 
prevent  Orlando's  intention  to  enter  the  lists  in  a  contest  arranged 
for  the  following  day,  as  it  would  go  hard  with  the  young  man 
should  he  do  so,  since  he  (Charles)  contends  for  his  reputation 
at  this  meeting.  But  Oliver  discloses  to  Charles  the  feeling  he 
has  towards  his  brother,  gives  him  a  bad  character,  and,  says  he 
would  as  soon  see  Orlando's  neck  broken  as  his  finger. 


INTRODUCTIOK.  5 

The  next  scene  is  a  lawn  before  Duke  Frederick's  palace, 
where  Celia,  his  daughter,  and  Rosalind,  daughter  of  his  exiled 
brother,  are  seated.  Le  Beau,  a  courtier,  appears,  and  tells  them 
they  will  see  some  rare  sport  if  they  remain,  as  it  is  on  this  lawn 
that  the  wrestlers  are  to  meet  for  the  final  struggle  of  the  tourna- 
ment. ,  They  decide  to  stay.  Charles  and  Orlando  approach. 
The  ladies,  admiring  the  youth  and  comehness  of  Orlando,  en- 
deavor to  dissuade  him  from  an  undertaking  in  which  his  youth 
and  inexperience  would  be  no  match  for  the  strength  and  skill 
of  his  opponent.  But  Orlando,  though  flattered  by  the  interest 
they  show  for  him,  will  not  withdraw  his  challenge,  and  to  the 
surprise  of  all  overthrows  the  champion,  who  is  borne  senseless 
from  the  scene.  Frederick,  being  informed  that  Orlando  is  a 
son  of  Sir  Rowland  de  Bois,  whom  he  declares  to  have  ever  been 
his  enemy,  turns  coldly  from  the  victor,  offering  neither  praise 
nor  reward.  Not  so  Rosahnd,  who,  already  favorably  impressed 
with  the  handsome  and  courageous  youth,  quite  loses  her  heart 
to  the  modest  athlete  when  she  learns  that  he  is  the  son  of  a 
steadfast  friend  of  her  father.  As  for  Orlando,  he  had  fallen 
desperately  in  love  with  Rosalind  at  first  sight. 

Now  Duke  Frederick,  who,  out  of  regard  for  the  sisterly  affec- 
tion and  lifelong  intimacy  existing  between  Celia  and  her  cousin, 
had  retained  Rosalind  at  his  court  when  he  expelled  her  father, 
suddenly  warns  her,  on  the  pretense  of  her  being  a  traitor,  to 
leave  his  palace  and  dominions  within  ten  days,  or  forfeit  her 
life.  Celia,  hearing  this,  assures  her  cousin  that  in  banishing  her 
the  Duke  has  banished  his  daughter  as  well,  as  she  will  share 
Rosalind's  exile  and  follow  her  fortunes. 

And  the  two  —  Rosalind  masquerading  as  a  young  forester, 
and  Celia  in  t^e  costume  of  a  shepherdess  —  accompanied  by 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

Touchstone,  a  "  clownish  fool "  of  the  Duke's  household,  steal 
from  the  court,  and  wend  their  way  to  the  Forest  of  Arden, 
where  Rosalind  goes  to  seek  her  father.  Frederick,  alarmed  by 
his  daughter's  absence,  and  having  reason  to  suspect  that  Orlando, 
who  is  also  missing,  may  be  with  the  runaways,  sends  for  Oliver, 
commands  him  to  find  his  brother,  and  sequesters  his  lands  and 
goods  till  he  does  so. 

In  the  mean  time  Orlando,  having  information  from  the  faith- 
ful Adam  that  his  life  is  in  danger  from  the  increased  bitterness 
of  Oliver's  enmity,  has  abandoned  his  brother's  house,  and,  wan- 
dering aimlessly,  comes  upon  the  exiled  Duke  in  the  woods  of 
Arden,  and  is  hospitably  welcomed.  But  adversity  has  by  no 
means  abated  the  ardor  of  Orlando's  love  for  Rosalind,  and  to 
relieve  his  passion  he  writes  verses  in  her  praise,  which  he  fastens 
to  the  trees  of  the  forest.  These  Celia  and  Rosalind  discover, 
and  are  thus  made  aware  of  Orlando's  presence  in  their  neigh- 
borhood. They  soon  meet  him.  Orlando,  of  course,  does  not 
recognize  either  of  the  cousins  in  their  disguise ;  but  finding 
the  young  forester — as  he  takes  Rosalind  to  be — a  sprightly 
youth  of  more  refined  manners  than  one  would  look  to  meet  in 
"  so  removed  a  dwelling,"  he  becomes  confidential,  and  imparts  to 
her  something  of  his  history  and  his  love.  Rosalind  ridicules  his 
lovesickness  ;  tells  him  "love  is  merely  a  madness,  and  .  .  .  deserves 
as  well  a  dark  house  and  a  whip  as  madmen  do ;  "  that,  profit- 
ing by  the  experience  and  instruction  of  an  old  religious  uncle,  she 
professes  to  cure  such  madness ;  that  Orlando  does  not  look  like 
a  lover — has  none  of  her  uncle's  marks  upon  him ;  but  she  says 
"  there  is  a  man  haunts  the  forest,  that  abuses  our  young  plants 
with  carving  '  Rosalind  '  on  their  barks ;  hangs  odes  upon  haw- 
thorns and  elegies  on  brambles,  all,  forsooth,  deifying  the  name 


INTRODUCTIOX.  7 

of  Rosalind.  If  I  could  meet  that  fancymonger,  I  would  give 
him  some  good  counsel,  for  he  seems  to  have  the  quotidian  of 
love  upon  him."  Orlando  assures  her  he  is  the  man  "  that  is  so 
love-shaked,"  but  does  not  care  to  be  cured,  doubts  her  ability 
to  cure  him,  and  asks  if  she  has  ever  cured  any  one.  "  Yes,  one," 
she  answers,  "and  in  this  manner.  He  was  to  imagine  me  his 
love,  his  mistress ;  and  I  set  him  every  day  to  woo  me ;  at  which 
time  would  I,  being  but  a  moonish  youth,  grieve,  be  effeminate, 
changeable,  longing  and  liking,  proud,  fantastical,  apish,  shallow, 
inconstant,  full  of  tears,  full  of  smiles ;  .  .  .  would  now  hke  him, 
now  loathe  him ;  .  .  .  now  weep  for  him,  then  spit  at  him,"  till 
at  length  "  I  drave  my  suitor  from  his  mad  humor  of  love.  .  .  . 
And  thus  I  cur'd  him ;  and  this  way  ...  I  would  cure  you,  if 
you  would  but  call  me  Rosalind  and  come  every  day  to  my 
cote  and  woo  me."  Orlando  insists  that  he  has  no  desire  to 
be  cured,  but  is  induced  to  go  with  Celia  and  RosaHnd  to  their 
cottage  to  try  the  efficacy  of  the  remedy. 

One  day,  while  undergoing  this  treatment,  Orlando,  quitting 
Rosahnd  for  an  hour  to  keep  an  appointment  with  the  Duke, 
whom  he  serves,  chances  upon  a  man  sleeping  under  an  oak, 
around  whose  neck  a  serpent  is  coiHng  itself,  while  near  by  a 
lioness  crouches,  awaiting  some  movement  of  the  sleeper  to  spring 
upon  him.  At  Orlando's  approach  the  serpent  glides  away,  and 
he  discovers  the  imperiled  man  to  be  Oliver,  the  cruel  brother 
from  whose  malignity  he  has  suffered  so  much  and  so  unjustly. 
The  first  impulse  is  to  leave  him  to  his  fate ; 

"But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge, 
And  nature,  stronger  than  his  just  occasion," 

prevail,  and  he  attacks  and  kills  the  lioness. 


8  IXTRODUCTIOX. 

Oliver,  awakening,  recognizes  his  brother;  forgiveness  and 
reconciliation  follow,  and  he  is  sent  by  Orlando  to  apologize 
to  Rosalind  for  his  failure  to  return  as  promised,  and  to  exhibit 
a  napkin  which  Orlando  had  used  to  stanch  a  wound  received 
in  his  encoiuiter  with  the  beast.  At  the  sight  of  blood  Rosalind 
swoons,  but,  reviving,  would  have  Ohver  believe  the  fainting 
counterfeited,  that  he  might  report  to  Orlando  how  well  she  had 
feigned.  But  her  agitation  increasing,  Ohver,  at  CeHa's  request, 
assists  in  leading  Rosahnd  to  their  cottage,  and  on  the  way  be- 
comes interested  in  Celia,  wins  her  love,  and,  returning  to  Orlando, 
says  if  he  will  consent  to  their  marriage,  he  (Oliver)  will  surrender 
to  his  brother  all  the  revenue  that  was  old  Sir  Rowland's,  and 
live  and  die  a  shepherd  in  the  forest. 

There  is  a  lively  episode  in  the  play,  of  Phebe,  a  beautiful 
shepherdess,  and  Silvius,  her  lover,  whose  earnest  pleadings  she 
treats  with  cruel  scorn.  Rosalind,  rambhng  through  the  wood, 
happens  to  meet  with  them.  She  rates  the  girl  roundly  for  her 
proud  and  disdainful  bearing,  saying  that  though  she  may  have 
some  beauty  she  is  not  for  all  markets,  and  that  she  would  do  well 
to  take  her  lover's  offer,  "  and  thank  Heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good 
man's  love."  At  the  same  time  she  fells  Silvius  that  he  is  a  fool 
for  following  the  shepherdess,  for  he  is  "  a  thousand  times  a  prop- 
erer  man  than  she  a  woman  ;  "  whereupon  Phebe  straightway  falls 
in  love  with  Rosalind  (in  her  male  attire),  and  begs  her  to  "  chide 
a  year  together ;  "  for  she  would  rather  hear  her  chide  than  Silvius 
woo. 

Rosahnd,  having  now  satisfied  herself  of  the  truth  and  con- 
stancy of  Orlando's  love  for  her,  informs  him  that  she  can  do 
strange  things,  and  if  he  so  desires  she  will  produce  his  real  and 
very  Rosahnd,  whom,  with  the  Duke's  permission,  he  may  marry 


/XTR0DLC7I0X.  9 

at  the  wedding  of  Oliver  and  Celia,  which  is  to  take  place  at 
the  Duke's  cave  the  next  day.  She  also  promises  Phebe  that 
she  will  then  marry  her  if  she  (Rosahnd)  ever  marries  woman, 
Phebe  readily  agreeing  to  take  Silvius  for  her  husband  in  case 
she  rejects  Rosalind.  Accordingly,  when  all  meet  at  the  Duke's, 
Rosalind,  appearing  in  her  own  character,  gives  her  hand  to 
the  astonished  and  delighted  Orlando,  Celia  weds  Oliver,  Phebe 
keeps  her  word  and  accepts  Silvius,  and  Touchstone,  coming  in 
with  Audrey,  an  unsophisticated  lass  of  the  forest,  of  whom  he 
has  become  enamored,  adds  another  couple 

"  To  join  in  Hymen's  bands." 

In  the  midst  of  these  festivities  the  second  son  of  Sir  Rowland 
de  Bois  arrives  to  announce  that  Frederick,  the  usurping  Duke, 
having  set  out  with  an  armed  force  to  take  his  brother  and  put 
him  to  the  sword,  was  met  on  the  skirts  of  the  wood  by  an  old 
rehgious  man,  and  by  him  converted 

*'  Both  from  his  enterprise  and  from  the  world ; 
His  crown  bequeathing  to  his  banish'd  brother, 
And  all  their  lands  restor'd  to  them  again 
That  were  with  him  exil'd." 

And  so,  amid  general  rejoicing,  the  play  concludes  with  a 
merry  dance  by  the  characters. 

Of  "  As  You  Like  It,"  Professor  Dowden  ("  Shakespeare :  His 
Plays  and  Poems ")  says :  "  The  story  is  taken  from  Thomas 
Lodge's  prose  tale,  '  Rosalynde,  Euphues'  Golden  Legacie;' 
and  a  passage  in  Lodge's  dedication  probably  suggested  to 
Shakespeare  the  name  of  his  play.  In  parts  of  his  work  the 
dramatist  follows  the  story-teller  closely,  but  there  are  some  im- 


I  o  IXTROD  UCTION. 

portant  differences.  The  heroic  names,  Orlando,  OHver,  and 
Sir  Rowland,  are  due  to  Shakespeare.  It  was  a  thought  of 
Shakespeare  to  make  the  rightful  and  the  usurping  Dukes 
brothers.  .  .  .  To  Shakespeare  we  owe  the  creation  of  the  cliar- 
acters  of  Jaques,  Touchstone,  and  Audrey.  .  .  .  '  Sweet  are  the 
uses  of  adversity,'  moralizes  the  banished  Duke,  and  external, 
material  adversity  has  come  to  him,  to  Rosalind,  and  to  Orlando  ; 
but  if  fortune  is  harsh,  nature  —  both  external  nature  and  human 
character — is  sound  and  sweet,  and  of  real  suffering  there  is 
none  in  the  play.  All  that  is  evil  remains  in  the  society  which 
the  denizens  of  the  forest  have  left  behind ;  and  both  seriously 
—  in  the  characters  of  the  usurping  Duke  and  OHver — and 
playfully — through  Touchstone's  mockery  of  court  follies — a 
criticism  on  what  is  evil  and  artificial  in  society  is  suggested  in 
contrast  with  the  woodland  life ;  yet  Shakespeare  never  falls 
into  the  conventional  pastoral  manner.  Orlando  is  an  ideal  of 
youthful  strength,  beauty,  and  noble  innocence  of  heart ;  and 
Rosalind's  bright,  tender  womanhood  seems  but  to  grow  more 
exquisitely  feminine  in  the  male  attire  which  she  has  assumed  in 
self-defense.  .  .  .  Possessed  of  a  delightful  consciousness  of 
power  to  confer  happiness,  she  can  dally  with  disguises,  and 
make  what  is  most  serious  to  her  at  the  same  time  possess  the 
charm  of  an  exquisite  frolic." 

Hazlitt  ("Characters  of  Shakespeare's  Plays")  remarks  of  "As 
You  Like  It :  "  "  It  is  the  most  ideal  of  any  of  Shakespeare's 
plays.  It  is  a  pastoral  drama,  in  which  the  interest  arises  more 
out  of  the  sentiments  and  characters  than  out  of  the  actions  or 
situations.  It  is  not  what  is  done,  but  what  is  said,  that  claims 
our  attention.     Nursed  in  solitude  '  under  the  shade  of  melan- 


IN  TROD  UC  TION.  1 1 

choly  boughs,'  the  imagination  grows  soft  and  dehcate,  and  the 
wit  runs  riot  in  idleness,  hke  a  spoiled  child  that  is  never  sent  to 
school.  Caprice  and  fancy  reign  and  revel  here,  and  stern  neces- 
sity is  banished  to  the  court.  .  .  .  The  very  air  of  the  place 
seems  to  breathe  a  spirit  of  philosophical  poetry.  .  .  .  Never 
was  there  such  beautiful  moralizing,  equally  free  from  pedantry 
or  petulance.  Jaques  is  the  only  purely  contemplative  character 
in  Shakespeare.  .  .  .  His  whole  occupation  is  to  amuse  his  mind, 
and  he  is  totally  regardless  of  his  body  and  his  fortunes.  He  is 
the  prince  of  philosophical  idlers  ;  ...  he  sets  no  value  upon  any- 
thing but  as  it  serves  as  food  for  reflection.  He  can  '  suck  melan- 
choly out  of  a  song,  as  a  weasel  sucks  eggs ;  '  the  motley  fool, 
who  '  morals  on  the  time,'  is  the  greatest  prize  he  meets  with  in 
the  forest.  He  resents  Orlando's  love  for  Rosalind  as  some 
disparagement  of  his  own  passion  for  abstract  truth ;  and  leaves 
the  Duke  as  soon  as  he  is  restored  to  his  sovereignty,  to  seek  his 
brother  out,  who  has  quitted  it  and  turned  hermit.  .  .  .  Touch- 
stone is  a  rare  fellow.  He  is  a  mixture  of  the  ancient  cynic  phi- 
losopher with  the  modern  buffoon,  and  turns  folly  into  wit  and  wit 
into  folly,  just  as  the  fit  takes  him.  .  .  .  There  is  hardly  any  one 
of  Shakespeare's  plays  that  contains  a  greater  number  of  passages 
that  have  been  quoted  in  books  of  extracts,  or  a  greater  number 
of  phrases  that  have  become  in  a  measure  proverbial.  If  we 
were  to  give  all  the  striking  passages  we  should  give  half  the  play. 
We  will  only  recall  a  few  of  the  most  delightful  to  the  reader's 
recollection.  Such  are  the  meeting  between  Orlando  and  Adam  ;i 
the  exquisite  appeal  of  Orlando  to  the  humanity  of  the  Duke 
and  his  company  to  supply  him  with  food  for  the  old  man,  and 
their  answer; 2  the  Duke's  description  of  a  country  life,  and  the 

1  Act  ii.,  sc.  3,  p.  37.  2  Act  ii.,  sc.  7,  p.  49. 


1 2  INTROD  UCTION. 

account  of  Jaques's  moralizing  on  the  wounded  deer  •}  his  meeting 
with  Touchstone  in  the  forest;-  his  apology  for  his  own  melan- 
choly and  his  satirical  vein,  and  the  well-known  speech  on  the 
stages  of  human  life ;  ^  the  old  song  of  '  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter 
wind  ; '  ^  Rosalind's  description  of  the  marks  of  a  lover,  and  of  the 
progress  of  time  with  different  persons;^  .  .  .  Touchstone's  lec- 
ture to  the  shepherd;*^  ...  his  panegyric  on  the  virtues  of  'an 
If ;'  ^  .  .  .  and  Phebe's  description  of  Ganymede  at  the  end  of  the 
third  act."  ^ 

Mrs.  Jameson,  in  her  "Characteristics  of  Women,"  thus  dehne- 
ates  the  women  of  this  comedy  :  "Though  Rosalind  is  a  princess, 
she  is  a  princess  of  Arcady ;  and  notwithstanding  the  charming 
effect  produced  by  her  first  scenes,  we  scarcely  ever  think  of  her 
with  a  reference  to  them,  or  associate  her  with  a  comt  and  the 
artificial  appendages  of  her  rank.  She  was  not  made  to  '  lord  it 
o'er  a  fair  mansion,'  and  take  state  upon  her,  hke  the  all-accom- 
plished Portia;  but  to  breathe  the  free  air  of  heaven  and  frolic 
among  green  leaves.  .  .  .  She  was  not  made  to  bandy  wit  with 
lords,  and  tread  courtly  measures  Avith  plumed  and  warlike  cava- 
liers, .  .  .  but  to  dance  on  the  greensward,  and  '  murmur  among 
living  brooks  a  music  sweeter  than  their  own.'  .  .  .  Everything 
about  Rosahnd  breathes  of  '  youth  and  youth's  sweet  prime.' 
She  is  fresh  as  the  morning,  sweet  as  the  dew-awakened  blos- 
soms, and  light  as  the  breeze  that  plays  among  them.  .  .  .  Her 
volubihty  is  like  the  bird's  song ;  it  is  the  outpouring  of  a  heart 
filled  to  overflowing  with  hfe,  love,  and  joy,  and  all  sweet  and 

1  Act  ii.,  sc.  I,  p.  35.  2  Act  ii.,  so.  7,  p.  46. 

3  Act  ii.,  sc.   7,  p.  50.  *  Act  ii.,  sc.  7,  p.  52. 

5  Act  iii.,  sc.  2,  p.  63.  6  Act  v..,  sc.  i,  p.  89. 

7  Act  v.,  sc.  4,  p.  98.  8  Page  74. 


IN  TROD  UC  TJON.  1 3 

affectionate  impulses.  ...  As  her  vivacity  never  lessens  our 
impression  of  her  sensibility,  so  she  wears  her  masculine  attire 
without  the  slightest  impugnment  of  her  dehcacy.  Shakespeare 
did  not  make  the  modesty  of  his  women  depend  on  their  dress. 
.  .  .  Rosalind  has  in  truth  '  no  doublet  and  hose  in  her  disposi- 
tion.' How  her  heart  seems  to  throb  and  flutter  under  her 
page's  vest  !  What  depth  of  love  in  her  passion  for  Orlando, 
whether  disguised  beneath  a  saucy  playfulness,  or  breaking  forth 
with  a  fond  impatience,  or  half  betrayed  in  that  beautiful  scene 
where  she  faints  at  the  sight  of  the  kerchief  stained  with  his 
blood  !  .  .  .  Then  how  beautifully  is  the  dialogue  managed  be- 
tween herself  and  Orlando  !  How  well  she  assumes  the  airs  of 
a  saucy  page  without  throwing  off  her  feminine  sweetness  !  How 
her  wit  flutters  free  as  air  over  every  subject !  With  what  a  careless 
grace,  yet  with  what  exquisite  propriety  !  .  .  .  Rosalind  has  not 
the  impressive  eloquence  of  Portia.  .  .  .  Her  longest  speeches 
are  not  her  best ;  nor  is  her  taunting  address  to  Phebe,  beautiful 
and  celebrated  as  it  is,  equal  to  Phebe's  own  description  of  her. 
The  latter,  indeed,  is  more  in  earnest. 

"  Ceha  is  more  quiet  and  retired  ;  but  she  rather  yields  to 
Rosalind  than  is  eclipsed  by  her.  She  is  as  full  of  sweetness, 
kindness,  and  intelligence,  quite  as  susceptible,  and  almost  as 
witty,  though  she  makes  less  display  of  wit.  She  is  described  as 
less  fair  and  less  gifted ;  yet  the  attempt  to  excite  in  her  mind 
a  jealousy  of  her  lovelier  friend,  by  placing  them  in  comparison, 
fails  to  awaken  in  the  generous  heart  of  Celia  any  other  feeling 
than  an  increased  tenderness  and  sympathy  for  her  cousin.  To 
Celia  Shakespeare  has  given  some  of  the  most  striking  and  ani- 
mated parts  of  the  dialogue ;  and  in  particular  that  exquisite 
description  of  the  friendship  between  her  and  Rosalind ; 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

'  We  still  have  slept  together, 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learn'd,  play'd,  eat  together, 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  coupled  and  inseparable.' 

"  Phebe  is  quite  an  Arcadian  coquette ;  she  is  a  piece  of 
pastoral  poetry.  Audrey  is  only  rustic.  A  very  amusing 
effect  is  produced  by  the  contrast  between  the  frank  and  free 
bearing  of  the  two  princesses  in  disguise  and  the  scornful  airs 
of  the  real  shepherdess.  In  the  speeches  of  Phebe,  and  in  the 
dialogue  between  her  and  Silvius,  Shakespeare  has  anticipated 
all  the  beauties  of  the  Italian  pastoral,  and  surpassed  Tasso  and 
Guarini.  We  find  two  among  the  most  poetical  passages  of  the 
play  appropriated  to  Phebe,  —  the  taunting  speech  to  Silvius,  and 
the  description  of  Rosalind  in  her  page's  costume." 

A  peculiar  interest  attaches  to  the  subordinate  but  fine  char- 
acter of  Adam,  arising  from  a  tradition,  current  in  the  last  cen- 
tury, that  Shakespeare  had  himself  personated  the  part  on  the 
stage.  The  story  is  neither  more  nor  less  authentic  than  much 
of  the  little  that  has  come  down  to  us  of  Shakespeare's  personal 
history. 


AS   YOU    LIKE    IT. 


PERSONS  OF   THE  FLAY. 


Duke,  living  in  banishment. 
Frederick,  his  brother,  ami  usurper 

of  his  dominions. 
Amiens,  )  lords  attending  on  the  ban- 
Jaques,    \      ished  Duke. 
Le  Beau,  a  cottrtier  attendittg  upon 

Frederick. 
Charles,  wrestler  to  Frederick. 
Oliver, 
Jaques, 
Orlando, 

DennIs,  I  ''"'^''i^  to  Oliver. 
Touchstone,  a  clown. 


sons  of  Sir  Rowland  de 
Bois. 


Sir  Oliver  Martext,  a  vicar. 

Sl^LVIUS,   S-^^'^-^^'^^'^-^- 

William,  a  country  fellow,  in  love 

with  Audrey. 
A  person  representing  Hymen. 

Rosalind,  daughter  to  the  banished 

Duke. 
Celia,  daughter  to  Frederick. 
Phebe,  a  shepherdess. 
Audrey,  a  country  wench. 

Lords,  pages  and  attendants,  etc. 


Scene  :   Oliver's  house ;  Duke  Frederick's  court;  and  the  Forest  of  Arden. 


ACT    I. 


Scene  I.     Orchard  of  Oliver's  House. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Orlando.  As  I  remember,  Adam,  it  was  upon  this  fashion  :  he 
bequeathed  me  by  will  but  poor  a  ^  thousand  crowns,  and,  as 
thou  say'st,  charg'd  my  brother,  on  his  blessing,  to  breed  me  well ; 
and  there  begins  my  sadness.  My  brother  Jaques  he  keeps  at 
school,  and  report  speaks  goldenly  of  his  profit; 2  for  my  part, 

1  This  transposition  of  the  indefinite  article  occurs  elsewhere  in  Shake- 
speare. 

2  Proficiency. 

IS 


1 6  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

he  keeps  me  rustically  at  home,  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  stays 
me  here  at  home  unkept ;  for  call  you  that  keeping  for  a  gentle- 
man of  my  birth,  that  differs  not  from  the  stalling  of  an  ox  ? 
His  horses  are  bred  better;  for,  besides  that  they  are  fair  with 
their  feeding,  they  are  taught  their  manage, ^  and  to  that  end 
riders  dearly  hir'd ;  but  I,  his  brother,  gain  nothing  under  him 
but  growth,  for  the  which  his  animals  on  his  dunghills  are  as 
much  bound  to  him  as  I.  Besides  this  nothing  that  he  so  plenti- 
fully gives  me,  the  something  that  nature  gave  me  his  counte- 
nance -  seems  to  take  from  me :  he  lets  me  feed  with  his  hinds,^ 
bars  me  the  place  of  a  brother,  and,  as  much  as  in  him  lies, 
mines  "*^  my  gentility  with  my  education.  This  is  it,  Adam,  that 
grieves  me ;  and  the  spirit  of  my  father,  which  I  think  is  within 
me,  begins  to  mutiny  against  this  serv-itude.  I  will  no  longer 
endure  it,  though  yet  I  know  no  wise  remedy  how  to  avoid  it. 

Adam.    Yonder  comes  my  master,  your  brother. 

Orlando.    Go  apart,  Adam,  and  thou  shalt  hear  how  he  will 
shake  me  up. 

Enter  Oliver. 

Oliver.    Now,  sir  !  what  make  you  here  ?  ^ 

Orlando.    Nothing ;  I  am  not  taught  to  make  anything. 

Oliver.    What  mar  you  then,  sir  ? 

Orlando.    Marry,^  sir,  I  am  helping  you  to  mar  that  which 

God  made  —  a  poor  unworthy  brother  of  yours — with  idleness. 
Oliver.    Marry,  sir,  be  better  employed,  and  be  naught  awhile.''' 
Orlando.    Shall  I  keep  your  hogs  and  eat  husks  with  them  ? 

What  prodigal  portion  ^  have  I  spent,  that  I  should  come  to  such 

penury  ? 

^  The  training  of  a  horse.  2  Treatment.  ^  Farm  laborers. 

*  Undermines. 

5  "  What  make,"  etc.,  i.e.,  what  are  you  doing  here? 

6  A  petty  oath  from  the  name  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 

''  "Be  naught  awhile,"   used  as  a  malediction;   as,  "Efface  yourself!" 
"  Plague  on  you!"  or  the  like. 
8  See  Luke  xv.  11-32. 


SCENE  i.J  AS    you  LIKE   IT.  17 

Oliver.    Know  you  where  you  are,  sir  ? 

Orlando.    O  sir,  very  well :  here  in  your  orchard. 

Oliver.    Know  you  before  whom,  sir  ? 

Orlando.  Ay,  better  than  him  I  am  before  knows  me.  I 
know  you  are  my  eldest  brother ;  and,  in  the  gentle  condition  of 
blood,  you  should  so  know  me.  The  courtesy  of  nations  allows 
you  my  better,  in  that  you  are  the  firstborn  ;  but  the  same  tradi- 
tion takes  not  away  my  blood,  were  there  twenty  brothers  betwixt 
us.  I  have  as  much  of  my  father  in  me  as  you ;  albeit,  I  confess, 
your  coming  before  me  is  nearer  to  his  reverence. 

Oliver.    What,  boy  ! 

Orlando.    Come,  come,  elder  brother,  you  are  too  young  in  this. 

Oliver.    Wilt  thou  lay  hands  on  me,  villain  ? 

Orlando.  I  am  no  villain  ;  I  am  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Row- 
land de  Bois ;  he  was  my  father,  and  he  is  thrice  a  villain  that 
says  such  a  father  begot  villains.  Wert  thou  not  my  brother,  I 
would  not  take  this  hand  from  thy  throat  till  this  other  had  puU'd 
out  thy  tongue  for  saying  so.     Thou  hast  rail'd  on  thyself. 

Adam.  Sweet  masters,  be  patient;  for  your  father's  remem- 
brance, be  at  accord. 

Oliver.    Let  me  go,  I  say. 

Orlando.  I  will  not,  till  I  please ;  you  shall  hear  me.  My 
father  charg'd  you  in  his  will  to  give  me  good  education  ;  you 
have  train'd  me  like  a  peasant,  obscuring  and  hiding  from  me  all 
gentlemanlike  qualities.  The  spirit  of  my  father  grows  strong 
in  me,  and  I  will  no  longer  endure  it ;  therefore  allow  me  such 
exercises  as  may  become  a  gentleman,  or  give  me  the  poor  allot- 
tery  ^  my  father  left  me  by  testament ;  with  that  I  will  go  buy 
my  fortunes. 

Oliver.  And  what  wilt  thou  do — beg  ?  —  when  that  is  spent  ? 
Well,  sir,  get  you  in ;  I  will  not  long  be  troubled  with  you  ;  you 
shall  have  some  part  of  your  will.      I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Orlando.  I  will  no  further  offend  you  than  becomes  me  for 
my  good. 

1  Portion. 


18  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

Oliver.    Get  you  with  him,  you  old  dog! 

Adam.  Is  "  old  dog  "  my  reward  ?  Most  true,  I  have  lost  my 
tteth  in  your  service.  God  be  with  my  old  master  !  He  would 
not  have  spoke  ^  such  a  word.  \Exeunt  Orhnido  and  Adam. 

Oliver.  Is  it  even  so  ?  begin  you  to  grow^  upon  me  ?  I  will 
physic  your  rankness,  and  yet  give  no  thousand  crowns  neither. — 
Holla,  Dennis  ! 

Enter  Dennis. 

Dennis.    Calls  your  worship  ? 

Oliver.  Was  not  Charles,  the  Duke's  wrestler,  here  to  speak 
with  me  } 

Dejinis.  So  please  you,  he  is  here  at  the  door  and  importunes 
access  to  you. 

Oliver.  Call  him  in.  \Exit  Dennis.]  'Twill  be  a  good  way  ; 
and  to-morrow  the  wrestling  is. 

Enter  CHARLES. 

Charles.    Good  morrow  to  your  worship. 

Oliver.  Good  Monsieur  Charles,  what's  the  new  news  at  the 
new  court  ? 

Charles.  There's  no  news  at  the  court,  sir,  but  the  old  news : 
that  is,  the  old  Duke  is  banish'd  by  his  younger  brother  the  new 
Duke ;  and  three  or  four  loving  lords  have  put  themselves  into 
voluntary  exile  with  him,  whose  lands  and  revenues  enrich  the 
new  Duke ;  therefore  he  gives  them  good  leave  to  wander. 

Oliver.  Can  you  tell  if  Rosahnd,  the  Duke's  daughter,  be  ban- 
ish'd with  her  father  ? 

Charles.  O  no ;  for  the  Duke's  daughter,  her  cousin,  so  loves 
her — being  ever  from  their  cradles  bred  together — that  she 
would  have  follow'd  her  exile,  or  have  died  to  stay  behind  her. 
She  is  at  the  court,  and  no  less  beloved  of  her  uncle  than  his 
own  daughter ;  and  never  two  ladies  loved  as  they  do, 

Oliver.    Where  will  the  old  Duke  live  ? 

1  Spoken.  2  Encroach. 


SCENE  I.]  JS    VOL'  LIKE  IT.  lO 

Charles.  They  say  he  is  already  in  the  Forest  of  Arden,  and  a 
many  merry  men  with  him  ;  and  there  they  live  like  the  old  Robin 
Hood  ^  of  England.  They  say  many  young  gentlemen  flock  to 
him  every  day,  and  fleet  the  time  carelessly,^  as  they  did  in  the 
golden  world. ^ 

Oliver.    What,  you  wrestle  to-morrow  before  the  new  Duke  ? 

Charles.  Marry,  do  I,  sir;  and  I  came  to  acquaint  you  with  a 
matter.  I  am  given,  sir,  secretly  to  understand  that  your  younger 
brother  Orlando  hath  a  disposition  to  come  in  disguis'd  against 
me  to  try  a  fall.  To-morrow,  sir,  I  wrestle  for  my  credit ;  and 
he  that  escapes  me  without  some  broken  limb  shall  acquit  him 
well.  Your  brother  is  but  young  and  tender ;  and,  for  your 
love,  I  would  be  loath  to  foil  him,  as  I  must,  for  my  own  honor, 
if  he  come  in.  Therefore,  out  of  my  love  to  you,  I  came  hither 
to  acquaint  you  withal,  that  either  you  might  stay  him  from  his 
intendment,  or  brook  such  disgrace  well  as  he  shall  run  into,  in 
that  it  is  a  thing  of  his  own  search  and  altogether  against  my 
will. 

Oliver.  Charles,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love  to  me,  which  thou 
shalt  find  I  will  most  kindly  requite.  I  had  myself  notice  of  my 
brother's  purpose  herein,  and  have  by  underhand  means  labored 
to  dissuade  him  from  it ;  but  he  is  resolute.  I'll  tell  thee,  Charles  : 
it  is  the  stubbornest  young  fellow  of  France  ;  full  of  ambition,  an 
envious  emulator  of  every  man's  good  parts,  a  secret  and  villain- 
ous contriver  against  me,  his  natural  brother.  Therefore  iise  thy 
discretion ;  I  had  as  lief  thou  didst  break  his  neck  as  his  finger. 
And  thou  wert  best  look  to't ;  for  if  thou  dost  him  any  shght 

1  Robin  Hood,  "  the  English  balladsinger's  joy,"  was  the  ideal  yeo- 
man of  the  people  of  England,  as  Arthur  was  the  ideal  knight  of  the  upper 
classes.  He  figures  in  the  ballads  as  an  outlaw,  "  robbing  the  rich  to  en- 
dow the  poor ;  a  great  sportsman ;  the  incomparable  archer ;  the  lover  of  the 
greenwood  and  of  a  free  life ;  brave,  adventurous,  jovial,  open-handed,  and  a 
protector  of  women." 

2  "  Fleet  the  time  carelessly,"  i.e.,  void  of  care,  cause  the  time  to  pass 
swiftly. 

3  "  The  golden  world,"  i.e.,  the  golden  age  fabled  by  the  ancient  poets. 


20  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

disgrace,  or  if  he  do  not  mightily  grace  himself  on  thee,  he  will 
practice  ^  against  thee  by  poison,  entrap  thee  by  some  treacherous 
device,  and  never  leave  thee  till  he  hath  ta'en  thy  life  by  some  in- 
direct means  or  other;  for,  I  assure  thee — and  almost  with  tears 
I  speak  it — there  is  not  one  so  young  and  so  villainous  this  day 
living.  I  speak  but  brotherly  of  him ;  but  should  I  anatomize  - 
him  to  thee  as  he  is,  I  must  blush  and  weep,  and  thou  must  look 
pale  and  wonder. 

Charles.    I  am  heartily  glad   I  came  hither  to  you.     If  he 
come  to-morrow,  I'll  give  him  his  payment.    If  ever  he  go  alone 
again,  I'll  never  wrestle  for  prize  more;  and  so  God  keep  your- 
worship  ! 

Oliver.  Farewell,  good  Charles,  \Exit  Charles?^  Now  will 
I  stir  this  gamester.^  I  hope  I  shall  see  an  end  of  him  ;  for  my 
soul — yet  I  know  not  why — hates  nothing  more  than  he.  Yet 
he's  gentle,  never  school'd  and  yet  learned,  full  of  noble  device,'* 
of  all  sorts  enchantingly  beloved,  and  indeed  so  much  in  the 
heart  of  the  world,  and  especially  of  my  own  people,  who  best 
know  him,  that  I  am  altogether  misprized.^  But  it  shall  not  be 
so  long ;  this  wrestler  shall  clear  all.  Nothing  remains  but  that  I 
kindle  the  boy  thither,^  which  now  I'll  go  about.  \Exit. 


Scene  II.     Lawn  before  the  Dnke''s  Palace. 
Enter  Celia  and  Rosalind. 

Celia.    I  pray  thee,  Rosalind,  sweet  my  coz,  be  merry. 

Rosalind.  Dear  Celia,  I  show  more  mirth  than  I  am  mistress 
of;  and  would  you  yet  I  were  merrier  ?  Unless  you  could  teach 
me  to  forget  a  banished  father,  you  must  not  learn  "^  me  how  to 
remember  any  extraordinary  pleasure. 

1  Plot.  2  Expose.  3  Sporting  youth. 

*  Aims.  5  Undervalued. 

*  "Kindle,"  etc.,  i.e.,  excite  him  to  take  part  in  this  contest. 
'  Teach. 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  21 

Celia.  Herein  I  see  thou  lov'st  me  not  with  the  full  weight 
that  I  love  thee.  If  my  uncle,  thy  banished  father,  had  ban- 
ished thy  uncle,  the  Duke,  my  father,  so  thou  hadst  been  still  with 
me  I  could  have  taught  my  love  to  take  thy  father  for  mine.  So 
wouldst  thou  if  the  truth  of  thy  love  to  me  were  so  righteously 
temper'd  ^  as  mine  is  to  thee. 

Rosalind.  Well,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my  estate,  to  re- 
joice in  yours. 

Celia.  You  know  my  father  hath  no  child  but.I,^  nor  none  is 
like  to  have ;  and,  truly,  when  he  dies,  thou  shalt  be  his  heir ;  for 
what  he  hath  taken  away  from  thy  father  perforce,  I  will  render 
thee  again  m  affection  ;  by  mine  honor,  I  will ;  and  when  I  break 
that  oath,  let  me  turn  monster.  Therefore,  my  sweet  Rose,  my 
dear  Rose,  be  meny. 

Rosalmd.  From  henceforth  I  will,  coz,  and  devise  sports. 
Let  me  see :  what  think  you  of  falhng  in  love  ? 

Celia.  Marry,  I  prithee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal ;  but  love  no 
man  in  good  earnest ;  nor  no  further  in  sport,  neither,  than  with 
safety  of  a  pure  blush  thou  mayst  in  honor  come  off  again. 

Rosalind.    What  shall  be  our  sport  then  ? 

Celia.  Let  us  sit  and  mock  the  good  housewife  Fortune^  from 
her  wheel,  that  her  gifts  may  henceforth  be  bestowed  equally. 

Rosalind.  I  would  we  could  do  so,  for  her  benefits  are  mightily 
misplaced,  and  the  bountiful  blind  woman  doth  most  mistake  in 
her  gifts  to  women. 

Celia.  'Tis  true ;  for  those  that  she  makes  fair  she  scarce 
makes  honest,  and  those  that  she  makes  honest  she  makes  very 
ill-favoredly. 

Rosalind.  Nay,  now  thou  goest  from  Fortune's  office  to 
Nature's.  Fortune  reigns  in  gifts  of  the  world,  not  in  the  hnea- 
ments  of  Nature. 

1  Composed.  2  ^je. 

3  The  goddess  of  fortune  of  classical  mythology  is  represented  with  a  horn 
of  plenty  at  her  side.  She  is  blindfolded,  and  generally  holds  a  wheel,  a 
symbol  of  inconstancy,  in  her  hand. 


2  2  SHAKESPEARE.  [ACT  i. 

Enter  TOUCHSTONE. 

Celia,  No  ?  when  Nature  hath  made  a  fair  creature,  may  she 
not  by  Fortune  faU  into  the  fire  ?  Though  Nature  hath  given 
us  wit  to  flout  at  Fortune,  hath  not  Fortune  sent  in  this  fool  to 
cut  off  the  argument  ? 

RosaUnd.  Indeed,  there  is  Fortune  too  hard  for  Nature,  when 
Fortune  makes  Nature's  natural^  the  cutter-off  of  Nature's  wit. 

Celia.  Peradventure  this  is  not  Fortune's  work  neither,  but 
Nature's,  who,  perceiving  our  natural  wits  too  dull  to  reason  of 
such  goddesses,  hath  sent  this  natural  for  our  whetstone  ;  for 
always  the  dullness  of  the  fool  is  the  whetstone  of  the  wits. — 
How  now,  wit  !  whither  wander  you  ? 

Touchstone.    Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your  father. 

Celia.    Were  you  made  the  messenger  ? 

Touchstone.  No,  by  mine  honor,  but  I  was  bid  to  come  for 
you. 

Rosalitul.    Where  learned  you  that  oath,  fool  ? 

Touchstone.  Of  a  certain  knight  that  swore  by  his  honor  they 
were  good  pancakes,  and  swore  by  his  honor  the  mustard  was 
naught.2  Now  FU  stand  to  it,  the  pancakes  were  naught  and 
the  mustard  was  good,  and  yet  was  not  the  knight  forsworn. 

Celia.  How  prove  you  that,  in  the  great  heap  of  your  knowl- 
edge ? 

Rosalind.    Ay,  marry,  now  unmuzzle  your  wisdom. 

Touchstofie.  Stand  you  both  forth  now.  Stroke  your  chins, 
and  swear  by  your  beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 

Celia.    By  our  beards,  if  we  had  them,  thou  art. 

Touchstone.  By  my  knavery,  if  I  had  it,  then  I  were ;  but  if 
you  swear  by  that  that  is  not,  you  are  not  forsworn.  No  more 
was  this  knight,  swearing  by  his  honor,  for  he  never  had  any ; 
or,  if  he  had,  he  had  sworn  it  away  before  ever  he  saw  those 
pancakes  or  that  mustard. 

Celia.    Prithee,  who  is't  that  thou  mean'st  ? 

1  Fool.  2  Bad. 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  23 

Touchsto7ie.    One  that  old  Frederick,  your  father,  loves. 

Celia.  My  father's  love  is  enough  to  honor  him.  Enough  ! 
speak  no  more  of  him  ;  you'll  be  whipp'd  for  taxation  '  one  of 
these  days. 

Touchstone.  The  more  pity  that  fools  may  not  speak  wisely 
what  wise  men  do  foolishly. 

Celia.  By  my  troth,  thou  sayest  true ;  for  since  the  little  wit 
that  fools  have  was  silenced,  the  little  foolery  that  wise  men 
have  makes  a  great  show.     Here  comes  Monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Rosalind.    With  his  mouth  full  of  news. 

Celia.    Which  he  will  put  on  us,  as  pigeons  feed  their  young. 

Rosalind.    Then  shall  we  be  news-cramm'd. 

Celia.    All  the  better ;  we  shall  be  the  more  marketable.  — 

Enter  Le  Beau. 

Bon  jour.  Monsieur  Le  Beau ;  what's  the  news  ? 

Le  Beau.'  Fair  princess,  you  have  lost  much  good  sport. 

Celia.    Sport  !  of  what  color  ?  2 

Le  Beau.    What  color,  madam  !   how  shall  I  answer  you  ? 

Rosalind.    As  wit  and  fortune  will. 

Touchstone.    Or  as  the  Destinies  decree. 

Celia.    Well  said.     That  was  laid^  on  with  a  trowel. 

Touchstone.    Nay,  if  I  keep  not  my  rank, — 

Rosalind.    Thou  losest  thy  old  smell. 

L.e  Beau.  You  amaze  ^  me,  ladies.  I  would  have  told  you  of 
good  wrestling,  which  you  have  lost  the  sight  of. 

Rosalind.    Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  the  wrestling. 

Le  Beau.  I  will  tell  you  the  beginning;  and,  if  it  please  your 
ladyships,  you  may  see  the  end,  for  the  best  is  yet  to  do ;  and 
here,  where  you  are,  they  are  coming  to  perform  it. 

Celia.    Well,  —  the  beginning,  that  is  dead  and  buried. 

Le  Beau.    There  comes  an  old  man  and  his  three  sons, — 

Celia.    I  could  match  this  beginning  with  an  old  tale. 

1  Slander.  2  Kind.  3  Bewilder. 


24  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

Le  Beau.  Three  proper  ^  young  men,  of  excellent  growth  and 
presence. 

Rosalind.  With  bills  on  their  necks,  "  Be  it  known  unto  all 
men  by  these  presents." 

Le  Beau.  The  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with  Charles,  the 
Duke's  wrestler ;  which  Charles  in  a  moment  threw  him  and 
broke  three  of  his  ribs,  that  diere  is  little  hope  of  life  in  him.  So 
he  serv'd  the  second,  and  so  the  third.  Yonder  they  lie  ;  the  poor 
old  man,  their  father,  making  such  pitiful  dole  -  over  them  that 
all  the  beholders  take  his  part  with  weeping. 

Bosalitid.    Alas  ! 

Touchstone.  But  what  is  the  sport,  monsieur,  that  the  ladies 
have  lost  ? 

Le  Beau.    Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

Touchstone.  Thus  men  may  grow  wiser  every  day  !  It  is  the 
first  time  that  ever  I  heard  breaking  of  ribs  was  sport  for 
ladies. 

Celia.    Or  I,  I  promise  thee. 

Rosalind.  But  is  there  any  else  longs  to  see  this  broken  music 
in  his  sides  ?  is  there  yet  another  dotes  upon  rib-breaking?  —  Shall 
we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin  ? 

Le  Beau.  You  must,  if  you  stay  here ;  for  here  is  the  place 
appointed  for  the  wresthng,  and  they  are  ready  to  perform  it. 

Celia.  Yonder,  sure,  they  are  coming ;  let  us  now  stay  and 
see  it. 


Flourish.     Enter  Duke  Frederick,  Lords,  Orlando,  Charles,  and 
Attendants. 

Duke  F.    Come  on  ;  since  the  youth  will  not  be  entreated,  his 
own  peril  on  his  forwardness. 
Rosalind.    Is  yonder  the  man  ? 
Le  Beau.    Even  he,  madam. 

1  Fine-looking.  2  Lamentation. 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  25 

Celia.   Alas,  he  is  too  young  !  yet  he  looks  successfully.^ 

Duke  F.  How  now,  daughter  and  cousin!"  are  you  crept 
hither  to  see  the  wrestling  ? 

Rosalind.    Ay,  my  liege,  so  please  you  give  us  leave. 

Duke  F.  You  will  take  Httle  delight  in  it,  I  can  tell  you ; 
there  is  such  odds  in  the  men.  In  pity  of  the  challenger's  youth 
I  would  fain  dissuade  him,  but  he  will  not  be  entreated.  Speak 
to  him,  ladies ;  see  if  you  can  move  him. 

Celia.    Call  him  hither,  good  Monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Duke  F.    Do  so  ;  I'll  not  be  by.  \Duke  goes  apart. 

Le  Beau.    Monsieur  the  challenger,  the  princess  calls  for  you. 

Orlando.    I  attend  them  with  all  respect  and  duty. 

Rosalind.  Young  man,  have  you  challeng'd  Charles  the  wres- 
tler ? 

Orlando.  No,  fair  princess ;  he  is  the  general  challenger.  I 
come  but  in,  as  others  do,  to  try  with  him  the  strength  of  my 
youth. 

Celia.  Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold  for  your 
years.  You  have  seen  cruel  proof  of  this  man's  strength.  If  you 
saw  yourself  with  your  eyes  or  knew  yourself  with  your  judg- 
ment, the  fear  of  your  adventure  would  counsel  you  to  a  more 
equal  enterprise.  We  pray  you,  for  your  own  sake,  to  embrace 
your  own  safety  and  give  over  this  attempt. 

Rosalind.  Do,  young  sir ;  your  reputation  shall  not  therefore 
be  misprized.  We  will  make  it  our  suit  to  the  Duke  that  the 
wrestling  might  not  go  forward. 

Orlando.  I  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard 
thoughts,  wherein  I  confess  me  much  guilty,  to  deny  so  fair 
and  excellent  ladies  anything.  But  let  your  fair  eyes  and  gentle 
wishes  go  with  me  to  my  trial,  wherein  if  I  be  foil'd,  there  is  but 
one  sham'd  that  was  never  gracious  ;  ^  if  kill'd,  but  one  dead  that 
is  wilHng  to  be  so.     I  shall  do  my  friends  no  wrong,  for  I  have 

1  As  if  he  would  win. 

2  "  Cousin,"  in  Shakespeare's  time,  was  used  indifferently  for  all  degrees 
of  kindred  beyond  the  first.  2  Favored. 


26  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

none  to  lament  me;  the  world  no  injury,  for  in  it  I  have  noth- 
ing ;  only  in  the  world  I  fill  up  a  place  which  may  be  better  sup- 
plied when  I  have  made  it  empty. 

Rosalind.  The  little  strength  that  I  have,  I  would  it  were 
with  you. 

Celia.    And  mine,  to  eke  out  hers. 

Rosalind.    Fare  you  well.    Pray  Heaven  I  be  deceiv'd  in  you  ! 

Celia.    Your  heart's  desires  be  with  you  ! 

Charles.  Come,  where  is  this  young  gallant  that  is  so  desirous 
to  lie  with  his  mother  earth  ? 

Orlando.  Ready,  sir ;  but  his  will  hath  in  it  a  more  modest 
working. 

Duke  F.    You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 

Charles.  No,  1  warrant  your  grace,  you  shall  not  entreat  him 
to  a  second,  that  have  so  mightily  persuaded  him  from  a  first. 

Orlando.  You  mean  to  mock  me  after ;  you  should  not  have 
mock'd  me  before.     But  come  your  ways. 

Rosalind.    Now  Hercules  ^  be  thy  speed,^  young  man  ! 

Celia.  I  would  I  were  invisible,  to  catch  the  strong  fellow  by 
the  leg.  [  They  wrestle. 

Rosalind.    O  excellent  young  man  ! 

Celia.  If  I  had  a  thunderbolt  in  mine  eye,  I  can  tell  who 
should  down.  [Shout      Charles  is  thrown. 

Duke  F.    No  more,  no  more. 

Orlando.  Yes,  I  beseech  your  grace.  I  am  not  yet  well 
breath'd. 

Duke  F.    How  dost  thou,  Charles  ? 

Le  Beau.    He  cannot  speak,  my  lord. 

Duke  F.    Bear  him  away.  —  What  is  thy  name,  young  man  ? 

Orlando.  Orlando,  my  liege ;  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Row- 
land  de  Bois. 

Duke  F.    I  would  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some  man  else  ! 

The  world  esteem'd  thy  father  honorable, 

1  A  mythological  hero  of  antiquity,  celeljrated  for  his  feats  of  strength. 

2  "  Be  thy  speed,"  i.e.,  speed  you ;  help  you. 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  27 

But  I  did  find  him  still  mine  enemy. 

Thou  shouldst  have  better  pleas'd  me  with  this  deed 

Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house. 

But  fare  thee  well ;  thou  art  a  gallant  youth. 

I  would  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 

[Exeunt  Duke  Frederick,  trai?i,  a?td  Le  Beau 

Celia.    Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this  ? 

Orlando.    I  am  more  proud  to  be  Sir  Rowland's  son, — 
His  youngest  son,  — and  would  not  change  that  calling 
To  be  adopted  heir  to  Frederick. 

Rosali7id.    My  father  lov'd  Sir  Rowland  as  his  soul, 
And  all  the  world  was  of  my  father's  mind. 
Had  I  before  known  this  young  man  his  son,i 
I  should  have  given  him  tears  unto  entreaties, 
Ere  he  should  thus  have  ventur'd. 

Celia.  Gentle  cousin. 

Let  us  go  thank  him  and  encourage  him. 
My  father's  rough  and  envious  ^  disposition 
Sticks  me  at  heart.  —  Sir,  you  have  well  deserv'd. 
If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in  love 
But  justly,  as  you  have  exceeded  promise, 
Your  mistress  shall  be  happy. 

Rosalind.  Gentleman,   . 

[Giving  hi?n  a  chain  from  her  neck. 
Wear  this  for  me,  one  out  of  suits  with  fortune,^ 
That  could  give  more,  but  that  her  hand  lacks  means.  — 
Shall  we  go,  coz  ? 

Celia.  Ay.  —  Fare  you  well,  fair  gentleman. 

Orlando.    Can  I  not  say,  I  thank  you  ?     My  better  parts 
Are  all  thrown  down,  and  that  which  here  stands  up 
Is  but  a  quintain,'*  a  mere  hfeless  block. 

Rosalind.    He  calls  us  back :  my  pride  fell  with  my  fortunes ; 

1  "  His  son,"  i.e.,  to  be  liis  son.  2  Malicious. 

3  "  Out  of  suits  with  fortune,"  i.e.,  in  misfortune. 

4  A  quintain  was  a  post  with  a  crossbeam  —  afterwards  the  image  of  a 


28  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

I'll  ask  him  what  he  would,  —  Did  you  call,  sir  ? 
Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well  and  overthrown 
More  than  your  enemies. 

Celia.  Will  you  go,  coz  ? 

Rosalind.    Have  with  you.^  —  Fare  you  well. 

\Exeunt  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Orlando.    What  passion  hangs  these  weights  upon  my  tongue  ? 
I  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urg'd  conference. 
O  poor  Orlando,  thou  art  overthrown  ! 
Or  Charles  or  something  weaker  masters  thee. 

Reenter  Le  Beau. 

Le  Beati.    Good  sir,  I  do  in  friendship  counsel  you 
To  leave  this  place.     Albeit  you  have  deserv'd 
High  commendation,  true  applause  and  love, 
Yet  such  is  now  the  Duke's  condition  2 
That  he  misconstrues  all  that  you  have  done. 
The  Duke  is  humorous;^  what  he  is,  indeed, 
More  suits  you  to  conceive  than  I  to  speak  of. 

Orlando.    I  thank  you,  sir;  and,  pray  you,  tell  me  this: 
Which  of  the  two  was  daughter  of  the  Duke 
That  here  was  at  the  wrestling  ? 

Le  Bean.    Neither  his  daughter,  if  we  judge  by  manners; 
But  yet,  indeed,  the  smaller  is  his  daughter. 
The  other  is  daughter  to  the  banish'd  Duke, 
And  here  detain'd  by  her  usurping  uncle. 
To  keep  his  daughter  company  ;  whose  loves 
Are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of  sisters. 
But  I  can  tell  you  that  of  late  this  Duke 
Hath  ta'en  displeasure  'gainst  his  gentle  niece, 

man  —  set  in  a  pivot,  and  used  as  a  target  in  military  exercises.  If  the  lance 
of  the  horseman  when  tilting  was  awkwardly  aimed,  it  might  cause  the  figure 
to  turn  and  give  the  assailant  a  stroke  with  its  projecting  arm,  thus  dis- 
gracing him. 

1  "  Have  with  you,"  i.e.,  I'll  be  with  you.      A  common  idiom. 

3  Disposition.  3  Capricious. 


SCENE  III.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  29 

Grounded  upon  no  other  argument  ^ 

But  that  the  people  praise  her  for  her  virtues, 

And  pity  her  for  her  good  father's  sake ; 

And,  on  my  hfe,  his  mahce  'gainst  the  lady 

Will  suddenly  2  break  forth.     Sir,  fare  you  well. 

Hereafter,  in  a  better  world  than  this,'"* 

I  shall  desire  more  love  and  knowledge  of  you. 

Orlando.    I  rest  much  bounden  to  you.     Fare  you  well. 

\Exit  Le  Beau. 
Thus  must  I  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother ;  ^ 
From  tyrant  Duke  unto  a  tyrant  brother  ;  — 
But  heavenly  Rosalind  !  \Exit. 

Scene  III.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Celia  and  Rosalind. 

Celia.  Why,  cousin  !  why,  Rosalind  !  Cupid  have  mercy  ! 
not  a  word  ? 

Rosalind.    Not  one  to  throw  at  a  dog. 

Celia.  No,  thy  words  are  too  precious  to  be  cast  away  upon 
curs ;  throw  some  of  them  at  me ;  come,  lame  me  with  reasons. 

Rosalind.  Then  there  were  two  cousins  laid  up,  when  the  one 
should  be  lam'd  with  reasons  and  the  other  mad  without  any. 

Celia.    But  is  all  this  for  your  father  ? 

Rosalind.  No,  some  of  it  is  for  my  father's  child.  O,  how 
full  of  briers  is  this  working-day  world  ! 

Celia.  They  are  but  burs,  cousin,  thrown  upon  thee  in  holiday 
foolery.  If  we  walk  not  in  the  trodden  paths,  our  very  petticoats 
will  catch  them. 

Rosalind.  I  could  shake  them  off  my  coat ;  these  burs  are  in 
my  heart. 

Celia.    Hem  ^  them  away. 

1  Reason.  8  Speedily;  quickly. 

3  Le  Beau  means  to  say,  "When  things  are  in  a  better  state  than  now." 

*  "  From  the  smoke,"  etc.,  i.e.,  from  bad  to  worse.  6  Cough. 


so  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

Rosalind.    I  would  try,  if  I  could  cry  "  hem  "  and  have  him. 

Celia.    Come,  come,  wrestle  with  thy  affections. 

Rosalind.  O,  they  take  the  part  of  a  better  wrestler  than  my- 
self ! 

Celia.  O,  a  good  wish  upon  you  !  you  will  try  in  time  in  spite 
of  a  fall.  But,  turning  these  jests  out  of  service,  let  us  talk  in 
good  earnest.  Is  it  possible,  on  such  a  sudden,  you  should  fall 
into  so  strong  a  liking  with  old  Sir  Rowland's  youngest  son  ? 

Rosalind.    The  Duke  my  father  lov'd  his  father  dearly. 

Celia.  Doth  it  therefore  ensue  that  you  should  love  his  son 
dearly  ?  By  this  kind  of  chase  ^  I  should  hate  him,  for  my 
father  hated  his  father  dearly ;  2  yet  I  hate  not  Orlando. 

Rosalind.    No,  faith,  hate  him  not,  for  my  sake. 

Celia.    Why  should  I  not  ?  doth  he  not  deserve  well  ? 

Rosalind.  Let  me  love  him  for  that,  and  do  you  love  him  be- 
cause I  do.     Look,  here  comes  the  Duke. 

Celia.   With  his  eyes  full  of  anger. 

Enter  Duke  Frederick,  with  Lords. 

Duke  F.    Mistress,  dispatch  you  with  your  safest  haste, 
And  get  you  from  our  court. 

Rosalind.  Me,"^  uncle  ? 

Duke  F.  You,  cousin. 

Within  these  ten  days  if  that  thou  be'st  found 
So  near  our  public  court  as  twenty  miles, 
Thou  diest  for  it. 

Rosalind.  I  do  beseech  your  grace, 

Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  fault  bear  with  me. 
If  with  myself  I  hold  inteUigence, 
Or  have  acquaintance  with  mine  own  desires ; 
If  that  I  do  not  dream  or  be  not  frantic, — 

1  "  This  kind  of  chase,"  i.e.,  this  line  of  reasoning. 

2  Shakespeare  uses  "  dear  "  q{  *'  whatever  touclies  us  nearly,  either  in  love 
or  hate,  joy  or  sorrow."  ?  L 


SCENE  III.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  3j 

As  I  do  trust  I  am  not,  —  then,  dear  uncle, 
Never  so  much  as  in  a  thought  unborn 
Did  I  oflfend  your  highness. 

Duke  F.  Thus  do  all  traitors ; 

If  their  purgation  ^  did  consist  in  words, 

They  are  as  innocent  as  grace  itself.  , 

Let  it  suffice  thee  that  I  trust  thee  not. 

Rosalmd.    Yet  your  mistrust  cannot  make  me  a  traitor. 
Tell  me  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 

Duke  F.    Thou  art  thy  father's  daughter  —  there's  enough. 

Rosalind.    So  was  I  when  your  highness  took  his  dukedom ; 
So  was  I  when  your  highness  banish'd  him. 
Treason  is  not  inherited,  my  lord ; 
Or,  if  we  did  derive  it  from  our  friends, 
What's  that  to  me  ?  my  father  was  no  traitor. 
Then,  good  my  liege,  mistake  me  not  so  much 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous. 

Celia.    Dear  sovereign,  hear  me  speak. 

Duke  F.    Ay,  Celia ;  we  stay'd  her  for  your  sake, 
Else  had  she  with  her  father  rang'd  along. 

Celia.    I  did  not  then  entreat  to  have  her  stay ; 
It  was  your  pleasure  and  your  own  remorse.2 
I  was  too  young  that  time  to  value  her ; 
But  now  I  know  her.     If  she  be  a  traitor, 
Why,  so  am  I ;  we  still  have  slept  together. 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learn'd,  play'd,  eat  together. 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans,^ 
Still  we  went  coupled  and  inseparable. 

Duke  F.    She  is  too  subtle  for  thee  ;  and  her  smoothness, 
Her  very  silence,  and  her  patience 
Speak  to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her. 

1  Clearance  from  guilt.         2  Tenderness  of  heart. 

3  "  Juno's  swans,"  i.e.,  the  swans  that  drew  the  goddess's  chariot.  But 
the  mythologists  tell  us  the  swan  was  sacred  to  Venus,  and  that  Juno's  car 
was  drawn  by  peacocks. 


32  SHAKESPEARE.  [ACT  I. 

Thou  art  a  fool ;  she  robs  thee  of  thy  name, 

And  thou  wilt  show  more  bright  and  seem  more  virtuous 

When  she  is  gone.     Then  open  not  thy  lips. 

Firm  and  irrevocable  is  my  doom 

Which  I  have  pass'd  upon  her :  she  is  banish'd. 

Celia.    Pronounce  that  sentence  then  on  me,  my  liege ; 
I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company. 

Duke  F.    You  are  a  fool!  —  You,  niece,  provide  yourself. 
If  you  outstay  the  time,  upon  mine  honor. 
And  in  the  greatness  of  my  word,  you  die. 

\Exeuiit  Duke  Frederick  and  Lords. 

Celia.    O  my  poor  Rosalind,  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? 
Wilt  thou  change  fathers  ?     I  will  give  thee  mine. 
I  charge  thee,  be  not  thou  more  griev'd  than  I  am. 

Rosalind.    I  have  more  cause. 

Celia.  Thou  hast  not,  cousin ; 

Prithee,  be  cheerful.     Know'st  thou  not  the  Duke 
Hath  banish'd  me,  his  daughter  ? 

Rosalind.  That  he  hath  not. 

Celia.    No  ?  hath  not  ?     Rosalind  lacks  then  the  love 
Which  teacheth  thee  that  thou  and  I  am'  one. 
Shall  we  be  sunder'd  ?  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl  ? 
No  :  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore  devise  with  me  how  we  may  fly, 
Whither  to  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us ; 
And  do  not  seek  to  take  the  charge  upon  you, 
To  bear  your  griefs  yourself  and  leave  me  out ; 
For,  by  this  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrows  pale. 
Say  what  thou  canst,  FU  go  along  with  thee. 

Rosalind.    Why,  whither  shall  we  go  ? 

Celia.    To  seek  my  uncle  in  the  Forest  of  Arden. 

Rosalind.    Alas,  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us, 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far  ! 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

1  Are. 


SCENE  in.]  .IS    YOU  LIKE   IT.  33 

Cclia.    I'll  put  myself  in  poor  and  mean  attire, 
And  with  a  kind  of  umber  smirch  my  face ;  •  ■ 

The  like  do  you ;  so  shall  we  pass  along 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

Rosalind.  Were  it  not  better, 

Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall, 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man  ? 
A  gallant  curtle  ax  ^  upon  my  thigh, 
A  boar  spear  in  my  hand ;  and  —  in  my  heart 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will- — 
We'll  have  a  swashing  -  and  a  martial  outside, 
As  many  other  mannish  cowards  have 
That  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances. 

Celia.    What  shall  I  call  thee  when  thou  art  a  man  ? 

RosaliiuL    I'll  have  no  worse  a  name  than  Jove's  own  page ; 
And  therefore  look  you  call  me  Ganymede.'' 
But  what  will  you  be  call'd  ? 

Celia.    Something  that  hath  a  reference  to  my  state : 
No  longer  Celia,  but  Aliena. 

Rosalind.    But,  cousin,  what  if  we  assay'd  to  steal 
The  clownish  fool  out  of  your  father's  court  ? 
Would  he  not  be  a  comfort  to  our  travel  ? 

Celia.    He'll  go  along  o'er  the  wide  world  with  me ; 
Leave  me  alone  to  woo  ^  him.     Let's  away, 
And  get  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  together, 
Devise  the  fittest  time  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight.      Now  go  we  in  content 
To  liberty  and  not  to  banishment.  \Exetmf. 

1  "  Curtle  ax,"  i.e.,  a  short  sword.  Tlie  name  is  a  corruption  of  "  cut- 
lass." 2  Swaggering. 

3  A  beautiful  youth  of  Phrygia,  son  of  Tros,  who,  wliile  feeding  his 
father's  flocks  on  Mount  Ida,  was  taken  up  to  Olympus  by  Jupiter,  and  be- 
came the  cupbearer  of  the  gods.  *  Persuade ;  gain  over. 


34  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  u. 

ACT   II. 

Scene  I.    The  Forest  of  Arden. 

Enter  DUKE  Senior,  Amiens,  a^id  hvo  or  three  Lords,  like  foresters. 

Duke  S.    Now,  my  co-mates  and  brothers  in  exile', 
Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 
Than  that  of  painted  pomp  ?     Are  not  these  woods 
More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court  ?  • 

Here  feel  we  but  the  penalty  of  Adam, — 
The  seasons'  difference,  as  the  icy  fang 
And  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind, 
Which,  when  it  bites  and  blows  upon  my  body, 
Even  till  I  shrink  with  cold,  I  smile  and  say, 
"  This  is  no  flattery ;  these  are  counselors 
That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  I  am." 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 
Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous. 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head ;  ^ 
And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 
Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything. 
I  would  not  change  it. 

Ajniens.  Happy  is  your  grace. 

That  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortune 
Into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style. 

Duke  S.    Come,  shall  we  go  and  kill  us  venison  ? 
And  yet  it  irks  ^  me  the  poor  dappled  fools, 
Being  native  burghers  ^  of  this  desert  city, 

1  That  the  toad  was  venomous,  and  that  it  had  a  precious  jewel  in  its  head, 
were  old  superstitions  in  Shakespeare's  day.  The  toadstone  was  supposed 
to  be  an  antidote  for  poison. 

2  Distresses.  3  Citizens. 


SCENE  I.]  AS    YOU  LIKE   77'.  3S 

Should  in  their  own  confines',  with  forked  heads  ^ 
Have  their  round  haunches  gor'd. 

First  Lord.  .  Indeed,  my  lord, 

The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that. 
And,  in  that  kind,-  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother  that  hath  banish'd  you. 
To-day  my  Lord  of  Amiens  and  myself 
Did  steal  behind  him  as  he  lay  along 
Under  an  oak  whose  an'tique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood. 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequester'd  ^  stag, 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt, 
Did  come  to  languish ;  and  indeed,  my  lord, 
The  wretched  animal  heav'd  forth  such  groans 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting,  and  the  big  round  tears 
Cours'd  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase  ;  and  thus  the  hairy  fool, 
Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook. 
Augmenting  it  with  tears. 

Duke  S.  But  what  said  Jaques  ? 

Did  he  not  moralize  this  spectacle  ? 

First  Lord.    O  yes,  into  a  thousand  similes. 
First,  for  his  weeping  into  the  needless  stream :  ^ 
"  Poor  deer,"  quoth  he,  "  thou  mak'st  a  testament 
As  worldhngs  do,  giving  thy  sum  of  more 
To  that  which  had  too  much."     Then,  being  there  alone, 
Left  and  abandon'd  of  his  velvet  ^  friends, 
"  'Tis  right,"  quoth  he  ;  "  thus  misery  doth  part 
The  flux^  of  company."     Anon  a  careless  herd, 

1  Arrowheads.  2  Way. 

3  Separated  from  the  herd. 

*  "  Needless  stream,"  i.e.,  a  stream  that  already  had  water  enough. 

^  Sleek ;  prosperous,  6  Coming  together. 


3^5  SHAh'ESPEARE.  [act  iu 

Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him 

And  never  stays  to  greet  him.      "  Ay,"  quoth  Jaques, 

"  Sweep  on,  you  fat  and  greasy  citizens ; 

'Tis  just  the  fashion ;  wherefore  do  you  look 

Upon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there  ?  " 

Thus  most  invectively  he  pierceth  through 

The  body  of  the  country,  city,  court, — 

Yea,  and  of  this  our  life,  swearing  that  we 

Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what's  worse, 

To  fright  the  animals  and  to  kill  them  up  ^ 

In  their  assign'd  and  native  dwelhng  place. 

Duke  S.    And  did  you  leave  him  in  this  contemplation  ? 

Second  Lord.    We  did,  my  lord,  weeping  and  commenting 
Upon  the  sobbing  deer. 

Duke  S.  Show  me  the  place. 

I  love  to  cope  ^  him  in  these  sullen  fits, 
For  then  he's  full  of  matter.^ 

First  Lord.    I'll  bring  you  to  him  straight.*  \Exeunt, 

Scene  II.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Duke  Frederick,  with  Lords. 

Dtike  F.    Can  it  be  possible  that  no  man  saw  them  ? 
It  cannot  be ;  some  villains  of  my  court 
Are  of  consent  and  sufferance  in  this.^ 

First  Lord.    I  cannot  hear  of  any  that  did  see  her. 
The  ladies,  her  attendants  of  her  chamber. 
Saw  her  abed,  and  in  the  morning  early 
They  found  the  bed  untreasur'd  of  their  mistress. 

Second  Lord.    My  lord,  the  roynish  ^  clown,  at  whom  so  oft 
Your  grace  was  wont  to  laugh,  is  also  missing. 

1  "  Kill  them  up  ;  "  we  should  say  now,  "  kill  them  off." 

2  Meet  with.  3  Sound  sense.  *  Immediately. 

5  "  Are  of  consent,"  etc.,  i.e.,  knew  of  this  escape  and  connived  at  it. 

6  Rascally. 


SfENE  HI.]  AS    you  LIKE  IT.  31 

Hisperia,  the  princess'  gentlewoman, 

Confesses  that  she  secretly  o'erheard 

Your  daughter  and  her  cousin  much  commend 

The  parts  and  graces  of  the  wrestler 

That  did  but  lately  foil  the  sinewy  Charles ; 

And  she  believes,  wherever  they  are  gone, 

That  youth  is  surely  in  their  company. 

Duke  F.    Send  to  his  brother ;  fetch  that  gallant  hither. 
If  he  be  absent,  bring  his  brother  to  me ; 
I'll  make  him  find  him.     Do  this  suddenly, 
And  let  not  search  and  inquisition  quail  ^ 
To  bring  again  these  foolish  runaways,  \Exeu7it. 

Scene  III.     Before  Oliver's  House. 
Enter  Orlando  and  Adam,  meeting. 

Orlando.    Who's  there  ? 

Adam.    What !  my  young  master  ?     O  my  gentle  master  ! 
O  my  sweet  master  !    O  you  memory 
Of  old  Sir  Rowland  !  why,  what  make  you  here  ? 
Why  are  you  virtuous  ?  why  do  people  love  you  ? 
And  wherefore  are  you  gentle,  strong,  and  valiant  ? 
Why  would  you  be  so  fond 2  to  overcome 
The  bony  priser^  of  the  humorous*  Duke? 
Your  praise  is  come  too  swiftly  home  before  you. 
Know  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men 
Their  graces  serve  them  but  as  enemies  ? 
No  more  do  yours ;  your  virtues,  gentle  master, 
Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  to  you. 
O,  what  a  world  is  this,  when  what  is  comely 
Envenoms  him  that  bears  it  ! 

Orlatido.    Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Adam.  O  unhappy  youth  ! 

1  "  Inquisition  quail,"  i.  e.,  inquiry  slacken.  2  Foolish. 

3  "  Bony  priser,"  i.  e.,  stalwart  prize  fighter.  4  See  Note  3,  p.  28. 


3^  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  li. 

Come  not  within  these  doors ;  within  this  roof 

The  enemy  of  all  your  graces  lives. 

Your  brother — no,  no  brother,  yet  the  son — 

Yet  not  the  son ;  I  will  not  call  him  son 

Of  him  I  was  about  to  call  his  father — 

Hath  heard  your  praises,  and  this  night  he  means 

To  burn  the  lodging  where  you  use  to  lie,^ 

And  you  within  it ;  if  he  fail  of  that, 

He  will  have  other  means  to  cut  you  off. 

I  overheard  him  and  his  practices.- 

This  is  no  place ;  ^  this  house  is  but  a  butchery.* 

Abhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it! 

Orlaiido.    Why,  whither,  Adam,  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  ? 

Adam.    No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here. 

Orlando.    What,  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  and  beg  my  food  ? 
Or  with  a  base  and  boisterous  sword  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ? 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do ; 
Yet  this  I  will  not  do,  do  how  I  can. 
I  rather  will  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Of  a  diverted  blood  and  bloody  brother.^ 

Adam.    But  do  not  so.     I  have  five  hundred  crowns, 
The  thrifty  hire  I  sav'd  under  your  father, 
Which  I  did  store  to  be  my  foster  nurse 
When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame, 
And  unregarded  age  in  corners  thrown. 
Take  that ;  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow,*^ 
Be  comfort  to  my  age  !      Here  is  the  gold ; 

1  "  Use  to  lie,"  i.e.,  it  is  your  custom  to  sleep. 

2  Evil  designs.  3  Fit  dwelling. 

*  Here  used  in  the  sense  of  "  slaughterhouse." 

5  "  Malice  of,"  etc.,  i.e.,  the  alienated  natural  affection  of  a  murderous 
brother. 

6  See  Ps.  cxlvii.  g,  and  Luke  xii.  6. 


SCENE  III.]  AS    YOU^IKE   IT.  39 

All  this  I  give  you.     Let  me  be  your  servant. 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty ; 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellioi:s  liquors  in  my  blood, 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kindly.^      Let  me  go  with  you ; 
I'll  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  and  necessities. 

Orlando.    O  good  old  man,  how  well  in  thee  appears 
The  constant  2  service  of  the  an'tique  world. 
When  service  sweat  for  duty,  not  for  meed  \^ 
Thou  art  not  for  the  fashion  of  these  times, 
Where  none  will  sweat  but  for  promotion. 
And  having  that,  do  choke  their  service  up 
Even  with  the  having;'^  it  is  not  so  with  thee. 
But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree, 
That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield 
In  heu  5  of  all  thy  pains  and  husbandry. 
But  come  thy  ways ;  we'll  go  along  together, 
And  ere  we  have  thy  youthful  wages  spent, 
We'll  hght  upon  some  settled  low  content. 

Adam.    Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee, 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  truth  and  loyalty. — 
From  seventeen  years  till  now  almost  fourscore 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  live  here  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek ; 
But  at  fourscore  it  is  too  late  a  week.** 
Yet  fortune  cannot  recompense  me  better 
Than  to  die  well  and  not  my  master's  debtor.  \Exeunt. 

1  Natural ;  hence,  healthy.  2  Faitlifiil.  3  Reward. 

*  Because  of  their  promotion  they  become  too  )iroud  to  serve. 
5  "  In  lieu,"  i.e.,  in  return  for. 

*  "  Too  late  a  week,"  i.e.,  too  late  in  the  week ;  much  too  late. 


40  SHAKE^EARE.  \_kci:  ii. 

Scene  IV.    The  Forest  of  Arden. 

Enter  RosALiND/?r  Ganymede,  CELiA/?r  Aliena,  and  Touchstone. 

Rosalind.    O  Jupiter,  how  weary  are  my  spirits  ! 

Touchstone.  I  care  not  for  my  spirits,  if  my  legs  were  not 
weary. 

Rosalind.  I  could  iind  in  my  heart  to  disgrace  my  man's  ap- 
parel and  to  cry  like  a  woman  ;  but  I  must  comfort  the  weaker 
vessel,  as  doublet  and  hose  ^  ought  to  show  itself  courageous  to 
petticoat ;  therefore  courage,  good  Aliena  ! 

Celia.    I  pray  you,  bear  with  me  ;  I  cannot  go  no  2  further. 

Touchstone.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you  than 
bear  you ;  yet  I  should  bear  no  cross  3  if  I  did  bear  you,  for  I 
think  you  have  no  money  in  your  purse. 

Rosalind.    Well,  this  is  the  Forest  of  Arden. 

Touchstone.  Ay,  now  am  I  in  Arden  —  the  more  fool  I !  When 
I  was  at  home  I  was  in  a  better  place ;  but  travelers  must  be 
content. 

Rosalind.    Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone. 

Enter  Corin  and  Sirvius. 

Look  you,  who  comes  here?  a  young  man  and  an  old  in  solemn  * 
talk. 

Corin.    That  is  the  way  to  make  her  scorn  you  still. 

Silvius.    O  Corin,  that  thou  knew'st  how  I  do  love  her  ! 

1  "  Doublet  and  hose,"  i.e.,  coat  and  breeches.  "  The  doublet  was  close 
and  fitted  tightly  to  the  body,  the  skirts  reaching  a  little  below  the  girdle. 
The  word  '  hose,'  now  applied  solely  to  the  stocking,  was  used  originally 
to  imply  the  breeches  "  or  tight  trousers. 

2  Double  negatives  are  frequent  in  Shakespeare. 

3  A  cross  is  a  heavy  burden,  figuratively.  The  penny  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
was  stamped  with  a  cross,  and  was  familiarly  so  called.  Touchstone  puns 
on  the  two  meanings. 

*  Serious ;  earnest. 


SCENE  IV.]  AS    YOU  ^IKE  IT.  41 

Corin.    I  partly  guess ;  for  I  have  lov'd  ere  now. 

Silvius.    No,  Corin,  being  old,  thou  canst  not  guess, 
Though  in  thy  youth  thou  wast  as  true  a  lover 
As  ever  sigh'd  upon  a  midnight  pillow. 
But  if  thy  love  were  ever  hke  to  mine, — 
As  sure  I  think  did  never  man  love  so, — 
How  many  actions  most  ridiculous 
Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  thy  fantasy  ?  ^ 

Corin.    Into  a  thousand  that  I  have  forgotten. 

Silvius.    O,  thou  didst  then  ne'er  love  so  heartily  ! 
If  thou  remember'st  not  the  shghtest  folly 
That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into. 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd  ; 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  sat  as  I  do  now. 
Wearing  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praise, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd ; 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  broke  from  company 
Abruptly,  as  my  passion  now  makes  me, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd. 

0  Phebe,  Phebe,  Phebe  !  [Exit. 
Rosalind.    Alas,  poor  shepherd  !  searching  of  thy  wound, 

1  have  by  hard  adventure  found  mine  own. 

Touchstone.  And  I  mine.  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  love,  I 
broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone  and  bid  him  take  that  for  coming 
a-night  to  Jane  Smile ;  and  I  remember  the  kissing  of  her  batlet  ^ 
and  the  cow's  dugs  that  her  pretty  chopt  hands  had  milk'd ;  and 
I  remember  the  wooing  of  a  peascod  instead  of  her,  from  whom 
I  took  two  cods  and,  giving  her  them  again,  said  with  weeping 
tears,  "Wear  these  for  my  sake."^     We  that  are  true  lovers  run 

1  Fancy;  i.e.,  love.  2  A  little  bat  used  by  laundresses. 

3  "  Our  [English]  ancestors  were  frequently  accustomed  in  tlieir  love 
affairs  to  employ  the  divination  of  a  jieascod  [pea  pod],  by  selecting  one 
growing  on  the  stem,  snatching  it  away  quickly,  and  if  tlie  omen  of  the  peas 
remaining  in  the  pod  were  preserved,  then  presenting  it  to  the  lady  of  their 
choice."     (Brand's  Popular  Antiqiiiiles,  quoted  by  W.  Aldis  Wright.) 


42  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

into  strange  capers ;  but  as  all  is  mortal  in  nature,  so  is  all  nature 
in  love  mortal  in  folly.' 

Rosalind.    I'hou  speakest  wiser  than  thou  art  'ware  of. 

Touchstone.    Nay,  I  shall  ne'er  be  'ware  of  mine  own  wit  till  I 
break  my  shins  against  it. 

Rosalind.  Jove,  Jove  !  this  shepherd's  passion 

Is  much  upon  my  fashion. 

Touchstone.    And  mine ;  but  it  grows  something  stale  with  me. 

Celia.    I  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yond  man 
If  he  for  gold  will  give  us  any  food. 
I  faint  almost  to  death. 

Touchstone.  Holla,  you  clown  ! 

Rosalind.    Peace,  fool ;  he's  not  thy  kinsman. 

Corin.  Who  calls  ? 

Touchstone.    Your  betters,  sir. 

Corin.  Else  are  they  very  wretched. 

Rosalind.    Peace,  I  say.  —  Good  even  to  you,  friend. 

Corin.    And  to  you,  gentle  sir,  and  to  you  all. 

Rosalind:    I  prithee,  shepherd,  if  that  love  or  gold 
Can  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 
Bring  us  where  we  may  rest  ourselves  and  feed. 
Here's  a  young  maid  with  travel  much  oppress'd, 
And  faints  for  succor. 

Corin.  Fair  sir,  I  pity  her, 

And  wish,  for  her  sake  more  than  for  mine  own, 
My  fortunes  were  more  able  to  relieve  her ; 
But  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man. 
And  do  not  shear  the  fleeces  that  I  graze. 
My  master  is  of  churlish  disposition, 
And  little  recks  2  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitahty. 
Besides,  his  cote,""^  his  flocks,  and  bounds  of  feed 
Are  now  on  sale,  and  at  our  sheepcote  now, 

1  "  Mortal  in  folly,"  i.e.,  extremely  foolish. 

2  Cares.  3  Hut. 


SCENE  v.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  43 

By  reason  of  his  absence,  there  is  nothing 
That  you  will  feed  on ;  but  what  is,  come  see, 
And  in  my  voice  most  welcome  shall  you  be. 

Rosalmd.    What  is  he  that  shall  buy  his  flock  and  pasture  ? 

Covin.    That  young  swain  that  you  saw  here  but  erewhile,i 
That  little  cares  for  buying  anything. 

Rosalijid.    I  pray  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty, 
Buy  thou  the  cottage,  pasture,  and  the  fiock. 
And  thou  shalt  have  to  pay  for  it  of  us. 

Celia.    And  we  will  mend  thy  wages.     I  like  this  place, 
And  willingly  could  waste  ^  my  time  in  it. 

Corin.    Assuredly  the  thing  is  to  be  sold. 
Go  with  me ;  if  you  like  upon  report 
The  soil,  the  profit,  and  this  kind  of  life, 
I  will  your  very  faithful  feeder  ^  be, 
And  buy  it  with  your  gold  right  suddenly.  \Exetmt. 

Scene  V.     The  Forest, 

Enter  Amiens,  Jaques,  and  others. 

Song. 

Amiens.  Under  the  greenwood  tree 

Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 

And  turn  his  merry  note 

Unto  the  sweet  bird^s  throat, 
Come  hither,  coine  hither,  come  hither j 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  wifiter  and  rough  weather. 

Jaques.    More,  more,  I  prithee,  more! 

Amie?is.    It  will  make  you  melancholy.  Monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaques.  I  thank  it.  More,  I  prithee,  more  !  I  can  suck  mel- 
ancholy out  of  a  song,  as  a  weasel  sucks  eggs.  More,  I  prithee, 
more! 

1  Just  now.  2  Spend.  3  Servant, 


44  SHAKESPEARE.  [Acr  ii. 

Amiens.    My  voice  is  ragged ;  I  know  I  cannot  please  you. 

Jaqiics.  I  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me ;  I  do  desire  you  to 
sing.     Come,  more  ;  another  stanzo  ;  call  you  'em  stanzos  ? 

Amiens.    What  you  will,  Monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaqiies.  Nay,  I  care  not  for  their  names ;  they  owe  me  noth- 
ing.    Will  you  sing  ? 

Amiens.    More  at  your  request  than  to  please  myself. 

Jaques.  Well,  then,  if  ever  I  thank  any  man,  I'll  thank  you ; 
but  that  they  call  comphment  is  like  the  encounter  of  two  dog 
apes,  and  when  a  man  thanks  me  heartily,  methinks  I  have  given 
him  a  penny  and  he  renders  me  the  beggarly  thanks.  Come, 
sing; — and  you  that  will  not,  hold  your  tongues. 

Amiens.  Well,  I'll  end  the  song.  —  Sirs,  cover ^  the  while;  the 
Duke  will  drink  under  this  tree.  —  He  hath  been  all  this  day  to 
look  2  you. 

Jaques.  And  I  have  been  all  this  day  to  avoid  him.  He  is 
too  disputable  ^  for  my  company.  I  think  of  as  many  matters  as 
he,  but  I  give  Heaven  thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of  them.  Come, 
warble,  come ! 

Song. 

Who  doth  ainbition  shun,  \All  together  here. 

And  loves  to  live  V  th''  sun, 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats 

And  pleas'  d  with  ivhat  he  gets. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hitherj 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Jaques.  I'll  give  you  a  verse  to  this  note  that  I  made  yester- 
day in  despite  of  my  invention.* 

1  Prepare  the  table  for  the  banquet.  2  Look  for. 

3  Fond  of  argument. 

*  "In  despite  of  my  invention,"  i.e.,  though  my  imagination  gave  its 
help  unwillingly. 


SCENE  VI.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  45 

Amiens.    And  I'll  sing  it. 
Jaques.    Thus  it  goes  : 

If  it  do  come  to  pass 

That  any  man  turn  ass, 

Leaving  his  tvealth  and  easey 

A  stubborn  will  to  please, 
Ducdatne,  ditcdatne,  ducdatne  j 

Here  shall  he  see 

Gross  fools  as  he, 
An  if  he  will  come  to  me. 

Amiens.    What's  that  "  ducdame  ?  " 

Jaques.  'Tis  a  Greek  invocation,  to  call  fools  into  a  circle, 
I'll  go  sleep,  if  I  can ;  if  I  cannot,  I'll  rail  against  all  the  first- 
born of  Egypt. ^ 

Amiens.    And  I'll  go  seek  the  Duke ;  his  banquet  is  prepared. 

[Exennt  severally. 

Scene  VL     The  Forest. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Ada7n.  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further.  O,  I  die  for  food  ! 
Here  lie  I  down,  and  measure  out  my  grave.  Farewell,  kind 
master. 

Orlando.  Why,  how  now,  Adam  !  no  greater  heart  in  thee  ? 
Live  a  little ;  comfort  a  little ;  cheer  thyself  a  httle.  If  this  un- 
couth forest  yield  anything  savage,  I  will  either  be  food  for  it  or 
bring  it  for  food  to  thee.  Thy  conceit  ^  is  nearer  death  than  thy 
powers.  For  my  sake  be  comfortable ;  hold  death  awhile  at  the 
arm's  end.  I  will  here  be  with  thee  presently ;  and  if  I  bring  thee 
not  something  to  eat,  I  will  give  thee  leave  to  die ;  but  if  thou 
diest  before  I  come,  thou  art  a  mocker  of  my  labor.  Well  said  ! 
thou  look'st  cheerly,^  and  I'll  be  with  thee  quickly.    Yet  thou  Hest 

1  Dr.  Johnson  notes  that  the  expression  "firstborn  of  Egypt"  was  a 
proverbial  one  for  highborn  persons. 

2  Imagination.  3  Cheerfully. 


4.6  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  n. 

in  the  bleak  air.  Come,  I  will  bear  thee  to  some  shelter ;  and  thou 
shalt  not  die  for  lack  of  a  dinner,  if  there  live  anything  in  this 
desert.     Cheerly,  good  Adam  !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VII.    The  Forest. 

A  table  set  out.     Enter  DuKE  Senior,  Amiens,  and  Lords  like  outlaws. 

Duke  S.    I  think  he  be  transform'd  into  a  beast ; 
For  I  can  nowhere  find  him  like  a  man. 

First  Lord.    My  lord,  he  is  but  even  now  gone  hence ; 
Here  was  he  merry,  hearing  of  a  song. 

Duke  S.    If  he,  compact  of  jars,i  grow  musical, 
We  shall  have  shortly  discord  in  the  spheres.'-^ 
Go,  seek  him ;  tell  him  I  would  speak  with  him. 

.fi'M/^r  Jaques. 

First  Lord.    He  saves  my  labor  by  his  own  approach. 

Duke  S.    Why,  how  now,  monsieur  !   what  a  life  is  this, 
That  your  poor  friends  must  woo  your  company  ? 
What,  you  look  merrily  ! 

Jaques.    A  fool,  a  fool  !   I  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest, 
A  motley  ^  fool !  — A  miserable  world  !  — 
As  I  do  hve  by  food,  I  met  a  fool, 
Who  laid  him  down  and  bask'd  him  in  the  sun. 
And  rail'd  on  Lady  Fortune  in  good  terms, 
In  good  set  terms,  and  yet  a  motley  fool. 
"  Good  morrow,  fool,"  quoth  I.     "  No,  sir,"  quoth  he, 
"  Call  me  not  fool  till  Heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune." 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke,'* 

^  "Compact  of  jars,"  i.e.,  made  up  of  discords. 

2  The  doctrine  of  Pythagoras  that  the  heavenly  bodies  in  their  motion 
produce  harmonious  sounds,  is  frequently  referred  to  by  Shakespeare. 

3  Party-colored.     The  dress  of  the  professional  fool,  who  had  a  place  in 
every  large  household,  was  patched  with  various  colors. 

*  Pocket. 


I 


SCENE  VII.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  4'/ 

And,  looking  on  it  with  lackluster  6)^6, 

Says  very  wisely,  "It  is  ten  o'clock. 

Thus  we  may  see,"  quoth  he,  "  how  the  world  wags; 

'Tis  but  an  hour  ago  since  it  was  nine, 

And  after  one  hour  more  'twill  be  eleven ; 

And  so,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  ripe  and  ripe, 

And  then,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  rot  and  rot ; 

And  thereby  hangs  a  tale."     When  I  did  hear 

The  motley  fool  thus  moral  ^  on  the  time, 

My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer, 

That  fools  should  be  so  deep-contemplative, 

And  I  did  laugh  sans  ^  intermission 

An  hour  by  his  dial.     O  noble  fool  ! 

0  worthy  fool  !      Motley's  the  only  wear.^ 
Duke  S.    What  fool  is  this  ? 

Jaques.    A  worthy  fool  !      One  that  hath  been  a  courtier. 
And  says,  if  ladies  be  but  young  and  fair, 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it ;  and  in  his  brain. 
Which  is  as  dry  as  the  remainder  biscuit 
After  a  voyage,  he  hath  strange  places  cramm'd 
With  observation,  the  which  he  vents 
In  mangled  forms.     O  that  I  were  a  fool  ! 

1  am  ambitious  for  a  motley  coat. 
Duke  S.    Thou  shalt  have  one. 

Jaques.  It  is  my  only  suit,* 

Provided  that  you  weed  your  better  judgments 
Of  all  opinion  that  grows  rank  in  them 
That  I  am  wise.     I  must  have  liberty 
Withal,  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind. 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please ;  for  so  fools  have ; 
And  they  that  are  most  galled  with  my  folly. 
They  most  must  laugh.     And  why,  sir,  must  they  so  ? 

^  Moralize.  2  A  French  word  meaning  "  without." 

3  "  Motley's  the  only  wear,"  i.e.,  there  is  no  dress  like  the  fool's. 

*  A  play  upon  the  word  is  doubtless  intended. 


S.8  SHAKESPEARE.  [ACT  \1. 

The  "  why  "  is  plain  as  way  to  parish  church : 

He  that  a  fool  doth  very  wisely  hit, 

Doth  very  foolishly,  although  he  smart, 

But  to  seem  senseless  of  the  bob  ;i  if  not, 

The  wise  man's  folly  is  anatomiz'd 

Even  by  the  squandering  glances  -  of  the  fool. 

Invest  me  in  my  motley  j  give  me  leave 

To  speak  my  mind,  and  I  will  through  and  through 

Cleanse  the  foul  body  of  the  infected  world. 

If  they  will  patiently  receive  my  medicine. 

Duke  S.    Fie  on  thee  !   I  can  tell  what  thou  wouldst  do. 

Jaques.    What,  for  a  counter,^  would  I  do  but  good  ? 

Duke  S.    Most  mischievous  foul  sin,  in  chiding  sin ; 
For  thou  thyself  hast  been  a  libertine, 
As  sensual  as  the  brutish  sting  itself ; 
And  all  the  embossed  sores  and  headed  evils. 
That  thou  with  license  of  free  foot  hast  caught, 
Wouldst  thou  disgorge  into  the  general  world. 

Jaques.    Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride. 
That  can  therein  tax  ^  any  private  party  ? 
Doth  it  not  flow  as  hugely  as  the  sea, 
Till  that  the  wearer's  very  means  do  ebb  ? 
What  woman  in  the  city  do  I  name. 
When  that  I  say  the  city  woman  bears 
The  cost  of  princes  on  unworthy  shoulders  ? 
Who  can  come  in  and  say  that  I  mean  her. 
When  such  a  one  as  she,  such  is  her  neighbor  ? 
Or  what  is  he  of  basest  function,^ 
That  says  his  bravery  is  not  on  my  cost,'' 
Thinking  that  I  mean  him,  but  therein  suits 

1  Blow. 

2  "  Squandering  glances,"  i.e.,  gibes  scattered  without  special  aim. 

*  "  For  a  counter,"  i.e.,  on  the  wager  of  a  counter.     The  counter  was  a 
worthless  coin,  used  only  for  calculations. 

*  Censure.  5  Occupation. 

^  "  His  bravery,"  etc.,  i.e.,  his  fine  clothes  are  not  at  my  expense. 


SCENE  vii.j  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  49 

His  folly  to  the  mettle  of  my  speech  ? 

There  then  ;  how  then  ?  what  then  ?     Let  me  see  wherein 

My  tongue  hath  wrong'd  him.     If  it  do  him  right, 

Then  he  hath  wrong'd  himself ;  if  he  be  free, 

Why  then  my  taxing  like  a  wild  goose  flies, 

Unclaim'd  of  any  man. —  But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Orlando,  ivitJi  Jiis  sword  drawn. 

Orlando.    Forbear,  and  eat  no  more. 

Jaques.  ^Vhy,  I  have  eat  none  yet. 

Orlando.    Nor  shalt  not,  till  necessity  be  serv'd. 

Jaques.    Of  what  kind  should  this  cock  come  of  ?  ^ 

Duke  S.    Art  thou  thus  bolden'd,  man,  by  thy  distress, 
Or  else  a  rude  despiser  of  good  manners. 
That  in  civihty  thou  seem'st  so  empty  ? 

Orlando.    You  touch'd  my  vein  at  first ;  the  thorny  point 
Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  from  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civihty ;  yet  am  I  inland  bred,- 
And  know  some  nurture.^     But  forbear,  I  say! 
He  dies  that  touches  any  of  this  fruit 
Till  I  and  my  aifairs  are  answered. 

hiques.    An  you  will  not  be  answered  with  reason,  I  must 
die. 

Duke  S.    What    would    you    have  ?     Your    gentleness    shal' 
force 
More  than  your  force  move  us  to  gentleness. 

Orlando.  I  almost  die  for  food ;  and  let  me  have  it. 

Duke  S.    Sit  down  and  feed,  and  welcome  to  our  table. 

Orlando.    Speak  you  so  gently  ?      Pardon  me,  I  pray  you ; 
I  thought  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here, 
And  therefore  put  I  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern  commandment.     But  whate'er  you  are 

'  This  repeating  of  the  preposition  is  often  met  with  in  Shakespeare. 

2  "  Inland  bred,"  i.e.,  not  a  rustic  brought  up  on  the  frontier. 

3  Good  breeding. 

4 


50  SHAKESPEARE.  Tact  ii 

That  in  this  desert  inaccessible, 

Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs, 

Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time ; 

If  ever  j-ou  have  look'd  on  better  days, 

If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knoll'd  to  church, 

If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast, 

If  ever  from  your  eyelids  vi^ip'd  a  tear. 

And  know  what  'tis  to  pity  and  be  pitied, — 

Let  gentleness  my  strong  enforcement  be ; 

In  the  which  hope  I  blush,  and  hide  my  sword. 

Duke  S.    True  is  it  that  we  have  seen  better  days, 
And  have  with  holy  bell  been  knoll'd  to  church, 
And  sat  at  good  men's  feasts,  and  wip'd  our  eyes 
Of  drops  that  sacred  pity  hath  engender'd ; 
And  therefore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness. 
And  take  upon  command  what  help  we  have 
That  to  your  wanting  may  be  minister'd.  • 

Orlando.    Then  but  forbear  your  food  a  little  while, 
Whiles  like  a  doe  I  go  to  find  my  fawn 
And  give  it  food.     There  is  an  old  poor  man. 
Who  after  me  hath  many  a  weary  step 
Limp'd  in  pure  love;  till  he  be  first  sufific'd, — 
Oppress'd  with  two  weak  evils,i  age  and  hunger, — 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Duke  S.  Go  find  him  out, 

And  we  will  nothing  waste  till  you  return. 

Orlando.    I  thank  ye ;  and  be  blest  for  your  good  comfort  ! 

\Exit. 

Duke  S.    Thou  seest  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy. 
This  wide  and  universal  theater 
Presents  more  woful  pageants  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play  in. 

Jaques.  All  the  world's  a  stage, 

And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players 

1  "  Weak  evils,"  i.e.,  evils  causing  weakness. 


SCENE  VII.]  JS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  5 1 

They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances ; 

And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 

His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first  the  infant, 

Mewhng  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms. 

And  then  the  whining  schoolboy,  with  his  satchel 

And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  Hke  snail 

Unwillingly  to  school.     And  then  the  lover, 

Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 

Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow.     Then  a  soldier, 

Full  of  strange  oaths  and  bearded  like  the  pard;i 

Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 

Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth.     And  then  the  justice. 

In  fair  round  belly  with  good  capon  lin'd. 

With  eyes  severe  and  beard  of  formal  cut. 

Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances  ;- 

And  so  he  plays  his  part.     The  sixth  age  shifts 

Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon,^^ 

With  spectacles  on  nose  and  pouch  on  side. 

His  youthful  hose,  well  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 

For  his  shrunk  shank ;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 

Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 

And  whistles  in  his  ^  sound.     Last  scene  of  all, 

That  ends  this  strange,  eventful  history. 

Is  second  childishness  and  mere  oblivion. 

Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything. 

Reenter  Orlando  with  Adam. 

Duke  S.    Welcome.     Set  down  your  venerable  burden, 
And  let  him  feed. 

1  "  Bearded  like  the  pard,"  i.e.,  with  long,  pointed  mustaches  like  the 
leopard's  feele.s. 

'^  "  Full  of  wise  saws,"  etc.,  i.e.,  crammed  with  wise  sayings  and  com- 
monplace illustrations. 

3  The  name  of  a  comic  character  in  Italian  plays. 

*  The  pronoun  "  its  "  was  riucly  Ubcd  in  Shakespeare's  day. 


52  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Orlando.    I  thank  you  most  for  him. 

Adatn.  So  had  you  need ; — 

I  scarce  can  speak  to  thank  you  for  myself. 

Duke  S.    Welcome  ;  fall  to.     I  will  not  trouble  you, 
As  yet,  to  question  you  about  your  fortunes. — 
Give  us  some  music ;  and,  good  cousin,  sing. 

Song. 

Amiens.  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 

Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man''s  ingratittide  ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  art  not  seen. 
Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh-ho  !  sing,  heigh-ho  /  unto  the  green  holly  ! 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly  j 
Then,  heigh-ho,  the  holly  ! 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  betiefits  forgot  : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp. 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remember'' d  not.^ 
Heigh-ho!  sing,  etc. 

Duke  S.    If  that  you  were  the  good  Sir  Rowland's  son, 
As  you  have  whisper'd  faithfully  you  were, 
And  as  mine  eye  doth  his  effigies  witness 
Most  truly  limn'd  and  living  in  your  face, 
Be  truly  welcome  hither.     I  am  the  Duke 
That  lov'd  your  father ;  the  residue  of  your  fortune. 
Go  to  my  cave  and  tell  me.  —  Good  old  man. 
Thou  art  right  welcome  as  thy  master  is. — 
Support  him  by  the  arm.  —  Give  me  your  hand. 
And  let  me  all  your  fortunes  understand.  \ Exeunt. 

1  "As  friend,"  etc.,  i.e.,  as  what  an  unremembered  friend  feels. 


scKNE  II.]  AS   YOU  LIKE  IT,  53 

ACT   III. 

Scene  I.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Duke  Frederick,  Lords,  and  Oliver. 

Duke  F.    Not  see  him  since  ?     Sir,  sir,  that  cannot  be ; 
But  were  I  not  the  better  part  made  mercy, 
I  should  not  seek  ao  absent  argument  ^ 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present.     But  look  to  it : 
Find  out  thy  brother,  w^heresoe'er  he  is  ; 
Seek  him  with  candle  ;2  bring  him  dead  or  living 
Within  this  twelvemonth,  or  turn  thou  no  more 
To  seek  a  living  in  our  territory. 
Thy  lands  and  all  things  which  thou  dost  call  thine, 
Worth  seizure,  do  we  seize  into  our  hands, 
Till  thou  canst  quit  thee  by  thy  brother's  mouth 
Of  what  we  think  against  thee. 

Oliver.    O  that  your  highness  knew  my  heart  in  this  ! 
I  never  lov'd  my  brother  in  my  life. 

Duke  F.    More  villain  thou. — Well,  push  him  out  of  doors; 
And  let  my  officers  of  such  a  nature 
Make  an  extent  ^  upon  his  house  and  lands. 
Do  this  expediently ,4  and  turn  him  going.  \Exeunt. 

Scene  II.      The  Forest. 

Enter  Orlando,  ivith  a  paper. 

Orlando.    Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my  love. — 
And  thou,  thrice-crowned  Queen  of  Night,^  survey 

1  Object.  2  See  Luke  xv.  8. 

3  "  Make  an  extent,"  i.e.,  seize  by  writ  of  attachment. 

*  Expeditiously. 

5  "  Thrice-crowned  Queen  of  Night,"  i.e.,  the  moon ;  known  as  Luna  or 
Cynthia  in  heaven,  Hecate  or  Proserpina  in  the  lower  regions,  and  on  earth 
as  Diana,  who  \vas  also  goddess  of  the  chase  and  of  chastity. 


SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

With  thy  chaste  eye,  from  thy  pale  sphere  above, 
Thy  huntress'  name  that  my  full  life  doth  sway. — 

O  Rosalind  !   these  trees  shall  be  my  books, 
And  in  their  barks  my  thoughts  I'll  character  ;i 

That  every  eye  which  in  this  forest  looks. 
Shall  see  thy  virtue  witness'd  everywhere. — 

Run,  run,  Orlando ;  carve  on  every  tree 

The  fair,  the  chaste,  and  unexpressive  ^  she.  \Exit. 


Enter  Corin  and  Touchstone. 

Corin.  And  how  Hke  you  this  shepherd's  life.  Master  Touch- 
stone ? 

Touchstone.  Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it  is  a  good 
life ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd's  life,  it  is  naught.^  In 
respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I  like  it  very  well ;  but  in  respect  that 
it  is  private,  it  is  a  very  vile  hfe.  Now,  in  respect  it  is  in  the 
fields,  it  pleaseth  me  well ;  but  in  respect  it  is  not  in  the  court, 
it  is  tedious.  As  it  is  a  spare  life,  look  you,  it  fits  my  humor 
well ;  but  as  there  is  no  more  plenty  in  it,  it  goes  much  against 
my  stomach.     Hast  any  philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd  ? 

Corin.  No  more  but  that  I  know  the  more  one  sickens  the 
worse  at  ease  he  is,  and  that  he  that  wants  money,  means,  and 
content  is  without  three  good  friends ;  that  the  property  of  rain 
is  to  wet,  and  fire  to  bum ;  that  good  pasture  makes  fat  sheep, 
and  that  a  great  cause  of  the  night  is  lack  of  the  sun ;  that  he 
that  hath  learned  no  wit  by  nature  nor  art  may  complain  of  good 
breeding  *  or  comes  of  a  very  dull  kindred. 

Touchstone.  Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher.  —  Wast  ever 
in  court,  shepherd  ? 

Corin.    No,  truly. 

Touchstone.    Then  thou  art  damn'd. 

Corin.    Nay,  I  hope. 

1  Carve.  2  Inexpressible.  3  gee  Note  2,  p.  22. 

^  "  Complain,"  etc.,  i.e.,  complain  of  not  having  been  well  lirought  up. 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  55 

Touchstone.  Truly,  thou  art  damn'd,  like  an  ill-roasted  egg  all 
on  one  side. 

Corin.    ¥ox  not  being  at  court  ?     Your  reason. 

Touchstone.  Why,  if  thou  never  wast  at  court,  thou  never 
saw'st  good  manners ;  if  thou  never  saw'st  good  manners,  then 
thy  manners  must  be  wicked  ;  and  wickedness  is  sin,  and  sin  is 
damnation.     Thou  art  in  a  parlous  ^  state,  shepherd. 

Corin.  Not  a  whit.  Touchstone ;  those  that  are  good  manners 
at  the  court  are  as  ridiculous  in  the  country  as  the  behavior  of 
the  country  is  most  mockable  at  the  court.  You  told  me  you 
salute  not  at  the  court  but  you  kiss  -  your  hands ;  that  courtesy 
would  be  uncleanly  if  courtiers  were  shepherds. 

Touchstone.    Instance,-'  briefly  ;  come,  instance. 

Corin.  Why,  we  are  still  ^  handling  our  ewes,  and  their  fells,-'' 
you  know,  are  greasy. 

Touchstone.  Why,  do  not  your  courtier's  hands  sweat  ?  and  is 
not  the  grease  of  a  mutton  as  wholesome  as  the  sweat  of  a  man  ? 
Shallow,  shallow.     A  better  instance,  I  say ;  come. 

Corin.    Besides,  our  hands  are  hard. 

Touchstone.  Your  lips  will  feel  them  the  sooner.  Shallow 
again.     A  more  sounder^  instance,  come. 

Corin.  And  they  are  often  tarr'd  over  with  the  surgery  of  our 
sheep  ;  and  would  you  have  us  kiss  tar  ?  The  courtier's  hands 
are  perfum'd  with  civet." 

Touchstone.  Most  shallow  man !  thou  worms'-meat,  in  respect  of 
a  good  piece  of  flesh  indeed!  Learn  of  the  wise,  and  perpend  :''' 
civet  is  of  a  baser  birth  than  tar.     Mend  the  instance,  shepherd. 

Corin.    You  have  too  courtly  a  wit  for  me ;  I'll  rest. 

Touchstone.  Wilt  thou  rest  damn'd  ?  God  help  thee,  shallow 
man  !      God  make  incision  in  thee  !  ^  thou  art  raw. 

Corin.    Sir,  I  am  a  true  laborer.     I  earn  that  I  eat,  get  that  I 

1  Perilous.  2  "  gut  you  kiss,"  i.e.,  without  kissing. 

3  Give  an  example ;  prove  it.  *  Continually.  5  Skins. 

*  Double  comparatives  are  used  by  all  l-lli/abcthan  writers. 

'^  A  perfume  derived  from  the  civet  cat.  8  Consider. 

9  Alluding  to  the  old  practice  of  bloodletting  as  a  cure  for  most  diseases. 


56  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

wear ;  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no  man's  happiness ;  glad  of  other 
men's  good,  content  with  my  harm;^  and  the  greatest  of  my 
pride  is  to  see  my  ewes  graze  and  my  lambs  suck.  Here  comes 
young  Master  Ganymede,  my  new  mistress's  brother. 

Enter  Rosalind,  7vith  a  paper,  reading. 

Rosalind.  From  the  east  to  western  Indy 

No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 
Her  ivort/i,  being  nioutited  on  the  -wind, 
Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalitid. 
All  the  pictures  fairest  lin'd 
Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 
Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind 
But  the  fair  of  Rosalind. 

Touchstone.  I'll  rhyme  you  so  eight  years  together,  dinners 
and  suppers  and  sleeping  hours  excepted ;  it  is  the  right  butter- 
women's  rank  2  to  market. 

Rosalind.    Out,  fool  ! 

Touchstone.    For  a  taste  : 

If  a  hart  do  lack  a  hind, 

Let  him  seek  out  Rosalind. 

If  the  cat  will  after  kind, 

So  be  sure  will  Rosalind. 

Winter  garments  must  be  liti'd. 

So  must  slender  Rosalind. 

They  that  reap  tnust  sheaf  and  bind; 

Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. 

Sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind, 

Such  a  nut  is  Rosalind. 

He  that  sweetest  rose  willfnd 

Must  find  love's  prick  and  Rosalind. 

This  is  the  very  false  gallop  of  verses ;  why  do  you  infect  your- 
self with  them  ? 

1  "Content  with  my  harm,"  i.e.,  bear  my  misfortunes  patiently. 
.2  "Going  one  after  another  at  a  jog  trot." 


SCENE  II.]  AS    VOL'  LIKE  IT.  57 

Rosalind.    Peace,  you  dull  fool  I   I  found  them  on  a  tree. 

Touchstone.    Truly,  the  tree  yields  bad  fruit. 

Rosalind.  I'll  graff  ^  it  with  you,  and  then  I  shall  graff  it  with 
a  medlar;-  then  it  will  be  the  earliest  fruit  i'  tlie  country;  for 
you'll  be  rotten  ere  you  be  half  ripe,  and  that's  the  right  virtue 
of  the  medlar. 

Touchstone.  You  have  said ;  but  whether  wisely  or  no,  let  the 
forest  judge. 

Enter  Celia,  ivith  a  iL'riting. 

Rosalind.    Peace  ! 
Here  comes  my  sister,  reading.     Stand  aside. 
Celia.    \Reads\ 

Why  should  this  a  desert  be? 

For^  it  is  unpeopled  ?    A'o  j 
Tongues  Pll  hang  on  ei'er}'  tree, 

That  shall  civil^ayings  *  show. 
Some,  hcnu  brief  the  life  of  man 

Runs  his  erring  "•  pilgrimage, 
That^  the  stretching  of  a  span 

Buckles  in  his  sum  of  age; 
Some,  of  violated  7>iKi.'s 

'  Twixt  the  souls  of  friend  and  friend. 
But  upon  the  fairest  boughs, 

Or  at  e^'cry  sentence  end. 
Will  I  Rosalinda  write. 

Teaching  all  that  read  to  know 
The  quintessence  of  every  sprite 

Hea7'en  would  in  little  show. 
Therefore  Heaven  Xature  charged 

That  one  body  should  be  fill  d 
With  all  graces  wide-enlarg'd. 

Nature  presently  distill' d 

1  Graft. 

2  A  small  European  tree,  the  fruit  of  which,  like  that  of  the  American 
persimmon,  is  not  fit  to  be  eaten  till  it  is  overripe. 

3  Because.  ^  "  Civil  sayings,"  i^e.,  sayings  of  civilized  society. 
5  Errant ;  wandering.  ^  So  that. 


58  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Helen's  ^  cheek,  but  not  her  heart ; 

Cleopatra's'^  majesty  ; 
Atalanta's  better  part  /^ 

Sad  Lucretia^s  *  modesty. 
Thus  Rosalind  of  many  parts 

By  heavenly  synod  luas  devis'd, 
Of  many  faces,  eyes,  and  hearts, 

To  have  the  touches^  dearest priz' d. 
Heaven  would  that  she  these  gifts  should  have. 
And  I  to  live  and  die  her  slave. 

Rosalind.  O  most  gentle  pulpiter  !  what  tedious  homily  of 
love  have  you  wearied  your  parishioners  withal,  and  never  cried, 
"  Have  patience,  good  people  "! 

Celia.  How  now  !  Back,  friends  !  —  Shepherd,  go  off  a  little. 
—  Go  with  him,  sirrah. 

Touchstone.  Come,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honorable  re- 
treat ;  though  not  with  bag  and  baggage,  yet  with  scrip  and 
scrippage.  [Exeunt  Corin  and  Touchstone. 

Celia.    Didst  thou  hear  these  verses  ? 

1  Helen,  according  to  classic  mythology,  was  the  daughter  of  Jupiter, 
and  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her  time.  Her  treacherous  desertion  of 
her  husband,  King  Menelaus  of  Sparta,  and  her  elopement  with  Paris,  a 
prince  of  Troy,  occasioned  the  Trojan  War,  the  theme  of  Homer's  Iliad. 

2  Cleopatra,  the  celebrated  Egyptian  queen,  famed  in  history  and  fiction 
for  her  beauty  and  mental  perfections,  and  for  the  wonderful  fascination  of  her 
coquetry,  died  in  30  B.C.,  after  a  reign  of  twenty-four  years. 

3  "Atalanta's  better  part  "  was,  probably,  her  graceful,  well-proportioned 
form.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  king  of  Scyros  ;  a  great  huntress,  and  very 
swift-footed.  She  did  not  wish  to  marry,  and,  to  free  herself  from  the 
importunities  of  her  many  admirers,  proposed  to  run  a  race  with  them,  the 
winner  to  be  her  husband ;  but  if  she  reached  the  goal  first  her  competitors 
were  to  be  put  to  death.  She  would  easily  have  distanced  them  all  but  for  a 
stratagem  devised,  we  are  told,  by  Venus,  goddess  of  beauty. 

*  Lucretia,  a  Roman  lady,  wife  of  Tarquinius  Collatinus,  having  been 
dishonored  by  Sextus  Tarquinius,  revealed  to  her  husband  and  father  the 
indignities  she  had  suffered,  entreated  them  to  avenge  her  wrongs,  and  then 
stabbed  herself  with  a  dagger  she  had  concealed  on  her  person. 

5  Features  and  traits  of  character. 


SCENE  11.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  59 

Rosalind.  O  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more  too;  for  some 
of  them  had  in  them  more  feet  than  the  verses  would  bear. 

Celia.    That's  no  matter;  the  feet  might  bear  the  verses. 

Rosalind.  Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame  and  could  not  bear 
themselves  without  the  verse,  and  therefore  stood  lamely  in  the 
verse. 

Celia.  But  didst  thou  hear  without  wondering  how  thy  name 
should  be  hang'd  and  carv'd  upon  these  trees  ? 

Rosalind.  I  was  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  the  wonder  be- 
fore you  came ;  for  look  here  what  I  found  on  a  palm  tree.  I 
was  never  so  berhym'd  since  Pythagoras'  ^  time,  that  I  was  an 
Irish  rat,2  which  I  can  hardly  remember. 

Celia.    Trow  you  who  hath  done  this  ? 

Rosalind.    Is  it  a  man  ? 

Celia.  And  a  chain,  that  you  once  wore,  about  his  neck. 
Change  you  color  ? 

Rosalind.    I  prithee,  who  ? 

Celia.  O  Lord,  Lord  !  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  friends  to 
meet ;  but  mountains  may  be  remov'd  with  earthquakes,  and  so 
encounter. 

Rosalind.    Nay,  but  who  is  it  ? 

Celia.    Is  it  possible  ? 

Rosalind.  Nay,  I  prithee  now  with  most  petitionary  vehemence, 
tell  me  who  it  is. 

Celia.  O  wonderful,  wonderful,  and  most  wonderful  wonderful ! 
and  yet  again  wonderful,  and  after  that,  out  of  all  whooping  !  ^ 

Rosalind.  Good  my  complexion  !  dost  thou  think,  though  I 
am  caparison'd  like  a  man,  I  have  a  doublet  and  hose  in  my  dis- 
position ?  One  inch  of  delay  more  is  a  South  Sea  of  discovery ; 
I  prithee,  tell  me  who  is  it  quickly,  and  speak  apace.     I  would 

"^  A  Greek  philosopher,  one  of  whose  doctrines  was  the  transmigration  of 
the  soul  into  successive  bodies,  either  human  or  animal. 

2  "  The  belief  that  rats  were  rhymed  to  death  in  Ireland  is  frequently 
alluded  to  by  the  old  dramatists." 

3  "  Out  of  all  whooping,"  i.e.,  past  all  exclamation. 


6o  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  in. 

thou  couldst  stammer,  that  thou  mightst  pom:  this  conceal'd  man 
out  of  thy  mouth,  as  wine  comes  out  of  a  narrow-mouth'd  bot- 
tle,—  either  too  much  at  once,  or  none  at  all.  I  prithee,  take  the 
cork  out  of  thy  mouth,  that  I  may  drink  thy  tidings.  Is  he  of 
God's  making  ?  What  manner  of  man  ?  Is  his  head  worth  a 
hat,  or  his  chin  worth  a  beard  ? 

Celia.    Nay,  he  hath  but  a,  httle  beard. 

Rosalitid.  Why,  God  will  send  more,  if  the  man  will  be  thank- 
ful. Let  me  stay  ^  the  growth  of  his  beard,  if  thou  delay  me  not 
the  knowledge  of  his  chin. 

Celia.  It  is  young  Orlando,  that  tripp'd  up  the  wrestler's  heels 
and  your  heart  both  in  an  instant. 

Rosalind.  Nay,  but  the  devil  take  mocking ;  speak,  sad  brow 
and  true  maid.- 

Celia.    V  faith,  coz,  'tis  he. 

Rosalind.    Orlando  ? 

Celia.    Orlando. 

Rosalind.  Alas  the  day  !  what  shall  I  do  with  my  doublet  and 
hose  ? — What  did  he  when  thou  saw'st  him  ?  What  said  he? 
How  look'd  he  ?  Wherein  went  he  ?  ^  What  makes  he  here  ? 
Did  he  ask  for  me  ?  Where  remains  he  ?  How  parted  he  with 
thee  ?  and  when  shalt  thou  see  him  again  ?  Answer  me  in  one 
word. 

Celia.  You  must  borrow  me  Gargantua's  *  mouth  first ;  'tis  a 
word  too  great  for  any  mouth  of  this  age's  size.  To  say  "ay"  and 
"no"  to  these  particulars  is  more  than  to  answer  in  a  catechism. 

Rosalind.  But  doth  he  know  that  I  am  in  this  forest  and  in 
man's  apparel  ?  Looks  he  as  freshly  as  he  did  the  day  he 
wrestled  ? 

Celia.  It  is  as  easy  to  count  atomies  as  to  resolve  the  proposi- 
tions of  a  lover ;  but  take  a  taste  of  my  finding  him,  and  relish  it 

1  "  Let  me  stay,"  i.e.,  I  am  willing  to  wait. 

2  "  Sad  brow,"  etc.,  i.e.,  without  joking;  in  honest  earnest. 

3  "  Wherein  went  he?  "  i.e.,  how  was  he  dressed  ? 

4  A  giant  in  one  of  Rabelais'  satires,  who  swallows  five  pilgrims  in  a  salad. 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  6i 

with  good  observance.  I  found  him  under  a  tree,  hke  a  dropp'd 
acorn. 

Rosalind.  It  may  well  be  called  Jove's  tree,^  when  it  drops 
forth  such  fruit. 

Celia.    Give  me  audience,  good  madam. 

Rosalind.    Proceed. 

Celia.    There  lay  he,  stretched  along,  like  a  wounded  knight. 

Rosali?id.  Though  it  be  pity  to  see  such  a  sight,  it  well  be- 
comes the  ground. 

Celia.  Cry  "  holla  "  "  to  thy  tongue,  I  prithee ;  it  ciu-vets  unsea- 
sonably.    He  was  furnish'd  like  a  hunter. 

Rosalind.    O,  ominous  !  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart. 

Celia.  I  would  sing  my  song  without  a  burden ;  thou  bring'st 
me  out  of  tune. 

Rosalind.  Do  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman  ?  when  I  think,  I 
must  speak.     Sweet,  say  on. 

Celia.    You  bring  ^  me  out.  —  Soft  !  comes  he  not  here  ? 

Enter  Orlando  and  Jaques. 

Rosalind.    'Tis  he  !      Slink  by,  and  note  him. 

Jaques.  I  thank  you  for  your  company ;  but,  good  faith,  I 
had  as  hef  have  been  myself  alone. 

Orlando.  And  so  had  I ;  but  yet,  for  fashion's  sake,  I  thank 
you  too  for  your  society. 

Jaques.    God  be  wi'  you ;  let's  meet  as  little  as  we  can. 

Orlando.    I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaques.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing  love  songs 
in  their  barks. 

Orlando.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  of  my  verses  with  reading 
them  ill-favoredly. 

Jaques.    Rosalind  is  your  love's  name  ? 

Orlando.    Yes,  just. 

Jaques.    I  do  not  like  her  name. 

'  The  oak  was  sacred  to  Jove,  or  Jupiter. 

8  An  expression  used  in  checking  a  horse.  3  Pq^^ 


62  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Orlando.  There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  you  when  she  was 
christen'd. 

Jaques.    What  stature  is  she  of  ? 

Orlando.    Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaqiies.  You  are  full  of  pretty  answers.  Have  you  not  been 
acquainted   with   goldsmiths'   wives,   and    conn'd    them   out   of 


rmgs 


?  1 


Orlando.  Not  so  ;  but  I  answer  you  right  painted  cloth,-  from 
whence  you  have  studied  your  questions. 

Jaques.  You  have  a  nimble  wit ;  I  think  'twas  made  of  Ata- 
lanta's  heels.  Will  you  sit  down  with  me  ?  and  we  two  will  rail 
against  our  mistress  the  world  and  all  our  misery. 

Orlando.  I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world  but  myself, 
against  whom  I  know  most  faults. 

Jaques.    The  worst  fault  you  have  is  to  be  in  love. 

Orlando.  'Tis  a  fault  I  will  not  change  for  your  best  virtue. 
I  am  weary  of  you. 

Jaques.  By  my  troth,  I  w^as  seeking  for  a  fool  when  I  found 
you, 

Orlando.  He  is  drown'd  in  the  brook ;  look  but  in,  and  you 
shall  see  him. 

Jaqjies.    There  I  shall  see  mine  own  figure. 

Orlando.    Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  fool  or  a  cipher. 

Jaqties.  I'll  tarry  no  longer  with  you ;  farewell,  good  Signior 
Love. 

Orlando.  I  am  glad  of  your  departure ;  adieu,  good  Monsieur 
Melancholy.  \Exit  Jaques. 

Celia  and  Rosalind  come forivard. 

Rosalind.  [Aside  to  Celia]  I  will  speak  to  him  like  a  saucy 
lackey,  and  under  that  habit  play  the  knave  with  him.  —  Do  you 
hear,  forester  ? 

1  The  meaning  is,  "  Have  you  not  had  access  to  goldsmiths'  shops  through 
the  favor  of  their  wives,  and  studied  the  mottoes  in  rings  ?  " 

2  "  Right  painted  cloth,"  i.e.,  sententiously.  The  painted  cloths  often  men- 
tioned by  Shakespeare  were  hangings  of  tapestry  with  which  rooms  were  dec- 
orated, and  on  v.hich  various  mottoes  were  wrought. 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  63 

Orlando.    Very  well ;  what  would  you  ? 

Rosalind.    1  pray  you,  what  is't  o'clock  ? 

Orlando.  You  should  ask  me  what  time  o'  day ;  there's  no 
clock  in  the  forest. 

Rosalind.  Then  there  is  no  true  lover  in  the  forest ;  else  sigh- 
ing every  minute  and  groaning  every  hour  would  detect  the  lazy 
foot  of  Time  as  well  as  a  clock. 

Orlando.  And  why  not  the  swift  foot  of  Time  ?  Had  not  that 
been  as  proper  ? 

Rosalind.  By  no  means,  sir.  Time  travels  in  divers  paces  with 
divers  persons.  I'll  tell  you  who  Time  ambles  withal,  who  Time 
trots  withal,  who  Time  gallops  withal,  and  who  he  stands  still 
withal. 

Orlando.    I  prithee,  who  doth  he  trot  withal  ? 

Rosalind.  Marry,  he  trots  hard  with  a  young  maid  between 
the  contract  of  her  marriage  and  the  day  it  is  solemniz'd.  If  the 
interim  be  but  a  se'nnight,i  Time's  pace  is  so  hard  that  it  seems 
the  length  of  seven  year, 

Orlando.    Who  ambles  Time  withal  ? 

Rosalind.  With  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin  and  a  rich  man  that 
hath  not  the  gout ;  for  the  one  sleeps  easily  because  he  cannot 
study,  and  the  other  lives  merrily  because  he  feels  no  pain,  —  the 
one  lacking  the  burden  of  lean  and  wasteful  learning,  the  other 
knowing  no  burden  of  heavy,  tedious  penury.  These  Time  ambles 
withal. 

Orlando.    Who  doth  he  gallop  withal  ? 

Rosalind.  With  a  thief  to  the  gallows ;  for  though  he  go  as 
softly  as  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too  soon  there. 

Orlando.    Who  stays  he  still  withal  ? 

Rosalind.  With  lawyers  in  the  vacation  ;  for  they  sleep  be- 
tween term  and  term,  and  then  they  perceive  not  how  Time 
moves. 

Orlando.    Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth  ? 

1  Seven  nights,  i.e.,  a  week;  as  we  say  "fortnight,"  i.e.,  fourteen  nights, 
for  two  weeks. 


64  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Rosalitid.  With  this  shepherdess,  my  sister,  here  in  the  skirts 
of  the  forest,  hke  fringe  upon  a  petticoat. 

Orlando.    Are  you  native  of  this  place  ? 

Rosalifid.  As  the  cony  that  you  see  dwell  where  she  is  kin- 
dled.i 

Orlando.  Your  accent  is  something  finer  than  you  could  pur- 
chase 2  in  so  remov'd  a  dwelling. 

Rosalind.  I  have  been  told  so  of  many  ;  but,  indeed,  an  old  re- 
ligious uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak,  who  was  in  his  youth 
an  inland  man;  one  that  knew  courtship^  too  well,  for  there  he 
fell  in  love.  I  have  heard  him  read  many  lectures  against  it, 
and  I  thank  God  I  am  not  a  woman,  to  be  touch'd  with  so  many 
giddy  offenses  as  he  hath  generally  tax'd  their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orlando.  Can  you  remember  any  of  the  principal  evils  that  he 
laid  to  the  charge  of  women  ? 

Rosal'md.  There  were  none  principal ;  they  were  all  like  one 
another  as  half-pence  are,  every  one  fault  seeming  monstrous  till 
his  fellow-fault  came  to  match  it. 

Orlando.    I  prithee,  recount  some  of  them. 

Rosalind.  No,  I  will  not  cast  away  my  physic  but  on  those 
that  are  sick.  There  is  a  man  haunts  the  forest,  that  abuses  our 
young  plants  with  carving  "  Rosalind  "  on  their  barks  ;  hangs  odes 
upon  hawthorns  and  elegies  on  brambles,  all,  forsooth,  deifying 
the  name  of  Rosalind.  If  I  could  meet  that  fancymonger,*  I 
would  give  him  some  good  counsel,  for  he  seems  to  have  the 
quotidian  ^  of  love  upon  him. 

Orlando.  I  am  he  that  is  so  love-shak'd ;  I  pray  you,  tell  me 
your  remedy. 

Rosalind.  There  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  you.  He 
taught  me  how  to  know  a  man  in  love,  in  which  cage  of  rushes 
I  am  sure  you  are  not  prisoner. 

Orla?ido.    What  were  his  marks  ? 

1.  Brought  forth.  2  Acquire. 

3  Court  manners.      Rosalind  puns  on  the  word.     *  One  who  deals  in  love. 

5  Quotidian  fevers  are  those  in  which  the  paroxysms  occur  daily. 


SCENE  11.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  65 

Rosalind.  A  lean  cheek,  which  you  have  not ;  a  blue  eye,i 
and  sunken,  which  you  have  not ;  an  unquestionable  -  spirit, 
which  you  have  not;  a  beard  neglected,  which  you  have  not  — 
but  I  pardon  you  for  that,  for  simply ^  your  having-*  in  beard  is  a 
younger  brother's  revenue ;  then  your  hose  should  be  ungarter'd, 
your  bonnet  unbanded,  your  sleeve  unbutton'd,  your  shoe  unti'd, 
and  everything  about  you  demonstrating  a  careless  desolation. 
But  you  are  no  such  man ;  you  are  rather  point-device  ^  in  your 
accouterments,  as  loving  yourself,  than  seeming  the  lover  of  any 
other. 

Orlafido.    Fair  youth,  I  would  I  could  make  thee  believe  I  love. 

Rosalind.  Me  ^  believe  it  !  You  may  as  soon  make  her  that 
you  love  believe  it,  which,  I  warrant,  she  is  apter  to  do  than  to 
confess  she  does ;  that  is  one  of  the  points  in  the  which  women 
still  give  the  lie  to  their  consciences.  But,  in  good  sooth,  are 
you  he  that  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees,  wherein  Rosalind  is 
so  admired  ? 

Orlando.  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  hand  of  Rosa- 
lind, I  am  that  he,  that  unfortunate  he. 

Rosalind.    But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rhymes  speak  ? 

Orlando.    Neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  express  how  much. 

Rosalind.  Love  is  merely  a  madness,  and,  I  tell  you,  deserves 
as  well  a  dark  house  and  a  whip  '^  as  madmen  do ;  and  the  rea- 
son why  they  are  not  so  punished  and  cured  is  that  the  lunacy  is 
so  ordinary  that  the  whippers  are  in  love  too.  Yet  I  profess  cur- 
ing it  by  counsel. 

Orlando.    Did  you  ever  cure  any  so  ? 

Rosalind.  Yes,  one,  and  in  this  manner.  He  was  to  imagine 
me  his  love,  his  mistress,  and  I  set  him  every  day  to  woo  me ; 
at  which  time  would  I,  being  but  a  moonish  ^  youth,  grieve,  be 

1  "  Blue  eye,"  i.e.,  blue  beneath  the  eyelids,  not  in  the  iris. 

2  Unsociable.  3  Indeed.  *  Property.         ^  Faultless. 
6  Object  of  "make"  understood. 

''  This  barbarous  treatment  of  lunatics  prevailed  till  within  the  last  fifty 
years.  8  Changeable. 


66  •  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ni. 

effeminate,  changeable,  longing  and  liking,  proud,  fantastical, 
apish,  shallow,  inconstant,  full  of  tears,  full  of  smiles,  for  e\-ery 
passion  something  and  for  no  passion  truly  anything,  as  boys  and 
women  are  for  the  most  part  cattle  of  this  color  ;  would  now  like 
him,  now  loathe  him  ;  then  entertain  him,  then  forswear  him ;  now 
weep  for  him,  then  spit  at  him  ;  that  I  drave  my  suitor  from  his 
mad  humor  of  love  to  a  hvmg'  humor  of  madness;  which  was, 
to  forswear  the  full  stream  of  the  w^orld  and  to  live  in  a  nook 
merely  -  monastic.  And  thus  I  cured  him  ;  and  this  way  vv^ill  I 
take  upon  me  to  wash  your  liver  ^  as  clean  as  a  sound  sheep's 
heart,  that  there  shall  not  be  one  spot  of  love  in't. 

Orlatido.    I  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Rosalind.  I  would  cure  you,  if  you  would  but  call  me  Rosa- 
lind and  come  every  day  to  my  cote  and  woo  me. 

Orlando.  Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will ;  tell  me 
where  it  is. 

Rosalind.  Go  with  me  to  it  and  I'll  show  it  you ;  and  by  the 
way  you  shall  tell  me  where  in  the  forest  you  live.     Will  you  go  ? 

Orlando.    With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

Rosalind.  Nay,  you  must  call  me  Rosahnd.  —  Come,  sister, 
will  you  go  ?  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.    T/ie  Forest. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey  ;  Jaques  behind. 

Touchstone.  Come  apace,''  good  Audrey ;  I  will  fetch  up  your 
goats,  Audrey.  And  how,  Audrey  ?  am  I  the  man  yet  ?  Doth 
my  simple  feature  ^  content  you  ? 

Audrey.    Your  features  !      Lord  warrant  us  !  what  features  ? 

Touchstone.  I  am  here  with  thee  and  thy  goats,  as  the  most 
capricious  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was  among  the  Goths.^ 

1   Real.  2  Entirely. 

_  3  Old  physiologists  regarded  the  liver  as  the  seat  of  the  affections, 
*  Quickly.  5  Personal  appearance. 

6  A  pun  is  intended  on  the  words  "  goats"  and  "  Goths,"  the  old  pro- 
nunciation of  Goths  being  as  though  it  were  spelled  "  Gotes."     The  pun  > 


SCENE  III.]  ^.S-    YOU  LIKE  IT.  67 

Jaqiies.  [Aside]  O  knowledge  ill  inhabited,  worse  than  Jove 
in  a  thatch'd  house  ! ' 

Touchstone.  When  a  man's  verses  cannot  be  understood,  nor 
a  man's  good  wit  seconded  with  the  forward  child  Understand- 
ing, it  strikes  a  man  more  dead  than  a  great  reckoning  in  a  little 
room. 2     Truly,  I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee  poetical. 

Audrey.  I  do  not  know  what  "  poetical "  is.  Is  it  honest  in 
deed  and  word  ?     Is  it  a  true  thing  ? 

Touchstone.  No,  truly ;  for  the  truest  poetry  is  the  most  feign- 
ing; and  lovers  are  given  to  poetry,  and  what  they  swear  in 
poetry  may  be  said  as  lovers  they  do  feign. 

Audrey.  Do  you  wish,  then,  that  the  gods  had  made  me 
poetical  ? 

Touchstofie.  I  do,  truly ;  for  thou  swear'st  to  me  thou  art  hon- 
est ;  now,  if  thou  wert  a  poet,  I  might  have  some  hope  thou  didst 
feign. 

Audrey.    Would  you  not  have  me  honest  ? 

Touchstone.  No,  truly,  unless  thou  wert  hard-favored ;  for 
honesty  coupled  to  beauty  is  to  have  honey  a  sauce  to  sugar. 

Jaques.    [Aside]    A  material  ^  fool  ! 

Audrey.  Well,  I  am  not  fair;  and  therefore  I  pray  the  gods 
make  me  honest. 

Touchstone.  Truly,  and  to  cast  away  honesty  upon  a  foul  ^ 
slut  were  to  put  good  meat  into  an  unclean  dish. 

Audrey.    I  am  not  a  slut,  though  I  thank  the  gods  I  am  foul. 

Touchstone.  Well,  praised  be  the  gods  for  thy  foulness  !  slut- 
tishness  may  come  hereafter.     But  be  it  as  it  may  be,   I  will 

helped   out   by   the   word   "capricious,"   which    is    derived   from   the   Latin 
caper  ("  goat"). 

1  Jupiter  and  Mercury,  visiting  the  earth  in  disguise,  came  upon  the  hum- 
ble dwelling  of  Philemon  and  Baucis,  and  were  so  hospitably  entertained  by 
the  worthy  couple  that  Jupiter  changed  their  thatched  cottage  into  a  superb 
temple,  of  which  Baucis  and  her  husband  were  made  priests.  (See  Guerber's 
Myths  of  Greece  and  Rome,  p.  43. ) 

2  "  Great  reckoning,"  etc.,  i.e.,  a  large  bill  for  a  small  accommodation. 

3  Full  of  matter ;  sensible.  *   Homely. 


68  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  in. 

marry  thee ;  and  to  that  end  I  have  been  with  Sir  OHver  Mar- 
text,  the  vicar  of  the  next  village,  who  hath  promis'd  to  meet  me 
in  this  place  of  the  forest  and  to  couple  us. 

Jaqiies.    \Asidc\    I  would  fain  see  this  meeting. 

Audrey.    Well,  the  gods  give  us  joy  ! 

Touchstone.    Amen  !      Here  comes  Sir  Oliver. — 


Enter  SiR  Oliver  Martext. 

Sir  Oliver  Martext,  you  are  well  met.    Will  you  dispatch  us  here 
under  this  tree,  or  shall  we  go  with  you  to  your  chapel  ? 

Sir  Oliver.    Is  there  none  here  to  give  the  woman  ? 

Touchstone.    I  will  not  take  her  on  gift  of  any  man. 

Sir  Oliver.  Truly,  she  must  be  given,  or  the  marriage  is  not 
lawful. 

Jaqiies.    [Advanciug]    Proceed,  proceed  ;  I'll  give  her. 

Touchstone.  Good  even,  good  Master  What-ye-call't ;  how  do 
you,  sir  ?  You  are  very  well  met.  God  'ild  i  you  for  your  last 
company;  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you; — even  a  toy-  in  hand 
here,  sir; — nay,  pray  be  cover'd. 

Jaques.    Will  you  be  married,  motley  ? 

Touchstone.  As  the  ox  hath  his  bow,^  sir,  the  horse  his  curb, 
and  the  falcon  her  bells,  so  man  hath  his  desires ;  and  as  pigeons 
bill,  so  wedlock  would  be  nibbling. 

Jaques.  And  will  you,  being  a  man  of  your  breeding,  be  mar- 
ried under  a  bush  like  a  beggar  ?  Get  you  to  church,  and  have 
a  good  priest  that  can  tell  you  what  marriage  is.  This  fellow  will 
but  join  you  together  as  they  join  wainscot ;  then  one  of  you  will 
prove  a  shrunk  panel,  and,  like  green  timber,  warp,  warp. 

Touchstone.  [Aside]  1  am  not  in  the  mind  but  I  were  better  to 
be  married  of  him  than  of  another ;  for  he  is  not  like  to  marry 
me  well,  and  not  being  well  married,  it  will  be  a  good  excuse 
for  me  hereafter  to  leave  my  wife. 

Jaques.    Go  thou  with  me,  and  let  me  counsel  thee. 

1  Yield ;  reward.  2  A  trifling  matter.  3  Yoke. 


SCENE  IV.]  ^S    YOU  LIKE  IT.  69 

Touchstone.  Come,  sweet  Audrey. — 
Farewell,  good  Master  Oliver;  not, — 
O  sweet  Oliver,, 
O  brave  Oliver, 
Leave  me  not  behind  thee: 
but, — 

Wind  away, 
Begone,  I  say, 
I  will  not  to  wedding  with  thee. 

\JExeti7it  Jaqjies,  Touchstone,  and  Audrey. 

Sir  Oliver.    'Tis  no  matter;  ne'er  a  fantastical  knave  of  them 

all  shall  flout  me  out  of  my  calling.  [£xit. 

Scene  IV.    The  Forest. 

Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Rosalind.    Never  talk  to  me  ;  I  will  weep. 

Celia.  Do,  I  prithee ;  but  yet  have  the  grace  to  consider  that 
tears  do  not  become  a  man. 

Rosalind.    But  have  I  not  cause  to  weep  ? 

Celia.    As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire ;  therefore  weep. 

Rosalind.    His  very  hair  is  of  the  dissembling  color. 

Celia.  Something  browner  than  Judas's  ;  ^  marry,  his  kisses  are 
Judas's  own  children. 

Rosalind.    V  faith,  his  hair  is  of  a  good  color. 

Celia.  An  excellent  color;  your  chestnut  was  ever  the  only 
color. 

Rosalind.  And  his  kissing  is  as  full  of  sanctity  as  the  touch  of 
holy  bread. 

Celia.  He  hath  bought  a  pair  of  chaste  lips  of  Diana. 2  A  nun 
of  winter's  sisterhood  kisses  not  more  religiously ;  the  very  ice  of 
chastity  is  in  them. 

1  Judas  is  constantly  represented  in  old  paintings  and  tapestries  with  red 
hair  and  beard. 

2  See  Note  5,  p.  53. 


70  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Rosalind.  But  why  did  he  swear  he  would  come  this  morning, 
and  comes  not  ? 

Celia.    Nay,  certainly,  there  is  no  truth  in  him. 

Rosalind.    Do  you  think  so  ? 

Celia.  Yes ;  I  think  he  is  not  a  pickpurse  nor  a  horse  stealer, 
but  for  his  verity  in  love,  I  do  think  him  as  concave  as  a  covered 
goblet  or  a  worm-eaten  nut. 

Rosalind.    Not  true  in  love  ? 

Celia.    Yes,  when  he  is  in ;  but  I  think  he  is  not  in. 

Rosalind.    You  have  heard  him  swear  downright  he  was. 

Celia.  "  Was  "  is  not  "  is ;  "  besides,  the  oath  of  a  lover  is  no 
stronger  than  the  word  of  a  tapster ;  they  are  both  the  confirmers 
of  false  reckonings.  He  attends  here  in  the  forest  on  the  Duke 
yoiir  father. 

Rosalind.  I  met  the  Duke  yesterday,  and  had  much  question 
with  him.  He  ask'd  me  of  what  parentage  I  was ;  I  told  him, 
of  as  good  as  he ;  so  he  laugh'd  and  let  me  go.  But  what  talk 
we  of  fathers,  when  there  is  such  a  man  as  Orlando  ? 

Celia.  O,  that's  a  brave  man  !  He  writes  brave  verses,  speaks 
brave  words,  swears  brave  oaths  and  breaks  them  bravely,  quite 
traverse,  athwart  the  heart  of  his  lover ;  as  a  puisny  ^  tilter,  that 
spurs  his  horse  but  on  one  side,  breaks  his  staff  hke  a  noble 
goose.  But  all's  brave  that  youth  mounts  and  folly  guides. — Who 
comes  here  ? 

Enter  CoRlN. 

Corin.    Mistress  and  master,  you  have  oft  inquired 
After  the  shepherd  that  complain'd  of  love, 
Whom  you  saw  sitting  by  me  on  the  turf, 
Praising  the  proud,  disdainful  shepherdess 
That  was  his  mistress. 

Celia.  Well,  and  what  of  him  ? 

Corin.    If  you  will  see  a  pageant  truly  play'd, 
Between  the  pale  complexion  of  true  love 

1  Unskillful. 


SCENE  v.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  ;i 

And  the  red  glow  of  scorn  and  proud  disdain, 
Go  hence  a  Httle  and  1  shall  conduct  you, 
If  you  will  mark  it. 

Rosalitid.  O,  come,  let  us  remove; 

The  sight  of  lovers  feedeth  those  in  love. — 
Bring  us  to  see  this  sight,  and  you  shall  say 
I'll  prove  a  busy  actor  in  their  play.  \Exeunt. 

Scene  V.    Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  SiLVius  and  Phebe. 

Silvius.    Sweet  Phebe,  do  not  scorn  me  ;  do  not,  Phebe ; 
Say  that  you  love  me  not,  but  say  not  so 
In  bitterness.     The  common  executioner. 
Whose  heart  the  accustom'd  sight  of  death  makes  hard, 
Falls  not  the  ax  ^  upon  the  humbled  neck 
But  first  begs  pardon.     Will  you  sterner  be 
Than  he  that  dies  and  lives  -  by  bloody  drops  ? 

Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Corin,  behind. 

Phebe.    I  would  not  be  thy  executioner ; 
I  fly  thee,  for  I  would  not  injure  thee. 
Thou  tell'st  me  there  is  murder  in  mine  eye  ! 
'Tis  pretty,  sure,  and  very  probable, 
That  eyes,  that  are  the  frail'st  and  softest  things,  > 
Who  shut  their  coward  gates  on  atomies. 
Should  be  call'd  tyrants,  butchers,  murderers  ! 
Now  I  do  frown  on  thee  with  all  my  heart ; 
And  if  mine  eyes  can  wound,  now  let  them  kill  thee! 
Now  counterfeit  to  swoon  ;  why,  now  fall  down ; 
Or  if  thou  canst  not,  O,  for  shame,  for  shame! 
Lie  not,  to  say  mine  eyes  are  murderers  ! 
Now  show  the  wound  mine  eye  hath  made  in  thee, 

1  "  Falls  not  the  ax,"  i.e.,  lets  not  the  ax  fall. 

2  "  Dies  and  lives,"  i.e.,  lives  and  dies;  earns  a  livelihood. 


7t  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iii. 

Scratch  thee  but  with  a  pin,  and  there  remains 

Some  scar  of  it ;  lean  but  upon  a  rush, 

The  cicatrice  ^  and  capable  impressure  2 

Thy  palm  some  moment  keeps ;  but  now  mine  eyes, 

Which  I  have  darted  at  i  hee,  hurt  thee  not ; 

Nor,  I  am  sure,  there  is  no  force  in  eyes 

That  can  do  hurt. 

Silvius.  O  dear  Phebe, 

If  ever — as  that  ever  may  be  near — 
You  meet  in  some  fresh  cheek  the  power  of  fancy, 
Then  shall  you  know  the  wounds  invisible 
That  love's  keen  arrows  make. 

Phebe.  But  till  that  time 

Come  not  thou  near  me ;  and  when  that  time  comes, 
Afiflict  me  with  thy  mocks,  pity  me  not ; 
As  till  that  time  I  shall  not  pity  thee. 

Rosalmd.    [Advajicwg]    And  why,  I  pray  you  ?     Who  might 
be  your  mother. 
That  you  insult,  exult,  and  all  at  once. 
Over  the  wretched  ?     What  though  you  have  no  beauty, — 
As,  by  my  faith,  I  see  no  more  in  you 
Than  without  candle  may  go  dark  to  bed, — 
Must  you  be  therefore  proud  and  pitiless  ? 
Why,  what  means  this  ?     Why  do  you  look  on  me  ? 
I  see  no  more  in  you  than  in  the  ordinary 
Of  Nature's  salework.  —  'Od's  my  httle  hfe, 
I  think  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too  !  — 
No,  faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  after  it. 
'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black-silk  hair, 
Your  bugle  ^  eyeballs,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream. 
That  can  entame  my  spirits  to  your  worship. — 
You  foolish  shepherd,  wherefore  do  you  follow  her. 
Like  foggy  south  puffing  with  wind  and  rain  ? 

1  Scar;  mark.  2  "  Capable  impressure,"  i.e.,  sensible  impression. 

3  Jet  black,  like  the  beads  called  "  bugles." 


SCENE  v.]  AS    YOU  LIKE   IT.  /J 

You  are  a  thousand  times  a  properer  ^  man 
Than  she  a  woman,     'Tis  sucli  fools  as  you 
That  make  the  world  full  of  ill-fa  vor'd  children. 
'Tis  not  her  glass,  but  you,  that  flatters  her; 
And  out  of  you  she  sees  herself  more  proper 
Than  any  of  her  lineaments  can  show  her. — 
But,  mistress,  know  yourself ;  down  on  your  knees. 
And  thank  Heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love; 
For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear, 
Sell  when  you  can,  —  you  are  not  for  all  markets. 
Cry  the  man  mercy ;  love  him ;  take  his  offer. 
Foul  is  most  foul,  being  foul  to  be  a  scoffer. — 
So  take  her  to  thee,  shepherd  ;  fare  you  well. 

Phebe.    Sweet  youth,  I  pray  you,  chide  a  year  together ; 
I  had  rather  hear  you  chide  than  this  man  woo. 

Rosalind.  He's  fallen  in  love  with  your  foulness,- — and  she'll 
fall  in  love  with  my  anger.  If  it  be  so,  as  fast  as  she  answers  thee 
with  frowning  looks,  I'll  sauce  her  with  bitter  words.  —  Why  look 
you  so  upon  me  ? 

Phebe.    For  no  ill  will  I  bear  you. 

Rosalind.    I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me, 
For  I  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine ; 
Besides,  I  like  you  not.  —  If  you  will  know  my  house, 
'Tis  at  the  tuft  of  olives  here  hard  by.  — 
Will  you  go,  sister  ?  —  Shepherd,  ply  her  hard. — 
Come,  sister.  —  Shepherdess,  look  on  him  better. 
And  be  not  proud ;  though  all  the  world  could  see, 
None  could  be  so  abus'd"  in  sight  as  he. — 
Come,  to  our  flock.  \Exeunt  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Corin. 

Phebe.    Dead  shepherd,*  now  I  find  thy  saw  of  might : 
"Who  ever  loved  that  loved  not  at  first  sight  ?" 

1  Handsomer.  2  gee  Note  4,  p.  67.  3  Deceived. 

*  The  reference  is  to  Christopher  Marlowe,  who  died  in  1593!  3-nd  the 
line  quoted  is  from  his  Hero  and  Leander.  "  '  Shepherd  '  is  used  for  '  poet ' 
in  the  language  of  pastoral  poetry." 


74  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ili. 

Silvius.    Sweet  Phebe, — 

Phebe.  Ha,  what  say'st  thou,  Silvius  ? 

Silvius.    Sweet  Phebe,  pity  me. 

Phebe.    Why,  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  gentle  Silvius. 

Silvius.    Wherever  sorrow  is,  relief  would  be ; 
If  you  do  sorrow  at  my  grief  in  love. 
By  giving  love  your  sorrow  and  my  grief 
Were  both  extermin'd.^ 

Phebe.    Thou  hast  my  love  ;  is  not  that  neighborly  ? 

Silvius.    I  would  have  you. 

Phebe.  Why,  that  were  covetousness. 

Silvius,  the  time  was  that  I  hated  thee, 
And  yet  it  is  not  that  I  bear  thee  love ; 
But  since  that  thou  canst  talk  of  love  so  well. 
Thy  company,  which  erst  -  was  irksome  to  m.e, 
I  will  endure  ;  and  I'll  employ  thee  too  ; 
But  do  not  look  for  further  recompense 
Than  thine  own  gladness  that  thou  art  employ'd. 

Silvius.    So  holy  and  so  perfect  is  my  love, 
And  I  in  such  a  poverty  of  grace. 
That  I  shall  think  it  a  most  plenteous  crop 
To  glean  the  broken  ears  after  the  man 
That  the  main  harvest  reaps.     Loose  now  and  then 
A  scatter'd  smile,  and  that  I'll  Hve  upon. 

Phebe.    Know'st  thou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me  erewhile  ? 

Silvius.    Not  very  well,  but  I  have  met  him  oft ; 
And  he  hath  bought  the  cottage  and  the  bounds 
That  the  old  carlot^  once  was  master  of. 

Phebe.    Think  not  I  love  him,  though  I  ask  for  him ; 
'Tis  but  a  peevish^  boy  ;  — yet  he  talks  well. 
But  what  care  I  for  words  ?  yet  words  do  well 
When  he  that  speaks  them  pleases  those  that  hear. 
It  is  a  pretty  youth  —  not  very  pretty ; 
But,  sure,  he's  proud,  and  yet  his  pride  becomes  him ; 

1  Exterminated.  2  Lately.  3  Rustic.  *  Wayward. 


scENK  [.]  AS    YOU  LIKE   IT.  75 

He'll  make  a  proper  man.     The  best  thing  in  him 

Is  his  complexion ;  and  faster  than  his  tongue 

Did  make  ofifense  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 

He  is  not  very  tall,  yet  for  his  years  he's  tall ; 

His  leg  is  but  so-so,  and  yet  'tis  well ; 

There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip, 

A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 

Than  that  mix'd  in  his  cheek ;  'twas  just  the  difference 

Betwixt  the  constant  ^  red  and  mingled  damask. 

There  be  some  women,  Silvius,  had  they  mark'd  him 

In  parcels"  as  I  did,  would  have  gone  near 

To  fall  in  love  with  him ;  but,  for  my  part, 

I  love  him  not  nor  hate  him  not ;  and  yet 

I  have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him; 

For  what  had  he  to  do  to  chide  at  me  ? 

He  said  mine  eyes  were  black  and  my  hair  black; 

And,  now  I  am  remember'd,  scorn'd  at  me. 

I  marvel  why  I  answer'd  not  again ; 

But  that's  all  one  —  omittance  is  no  quittance. 

I'll  write  to  him  a  very  taunting  letter. 

And  thou  shalt  bear  it ;  wilt  thou,  Silvius  ? 

Silvius.    Phebe,  with  all  my  heart. 

Phebe.  I'll  write  it  straight ; 

The  matter's  in  my  head  and  in  my  heart ; 
I  will  be  bitter  with  him,  and  passing  short. 
Go  with  me,  Silvius.  [Exeunt. 

ACT    IV. 

Scene  I.    The  Forest. 
Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  ] ^q\^^?.'s. 

Jaques.    I  prithee,  pretty  youth,  let  me  be  better  acquainted 
with  thee. 

Rosalind.    They  say  you  are  a  melancholy  fellow. 

1   Uniform.  2  Detail. 


76  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv 

Jaques.    I  am  so ;  I  do  love  it  better  than  laughing. 

Rosalitid.  Those  that  are  in  extremity  of  either  are  abomi- 
nable fellows,  and  betray  themselves  to  every  modem  censure  ^ 
worse  than  drunkards. 

Jaqtces.    Why,  'tis  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing. 

Rosalind.    Why,  then,  'tis  good  to  be  a  post. 

Jaques.  I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy,  which  is  emu- 
lation, nor  the  musician's,  which  is  fantastical,  nor  the  courtier's, 
which  is  proud,  nor  the  soldier's,  which  is  ambitious,  nor  the 
lawyer's,  which  is  politic,  nor  the  lady's,  which  is  nice,-  nor  the 
lover's,  which  is  all  these ;  but  it  is  a  melancholy  of  mine  own, 
compounded  of  many  simples,  extracted  from  many  objects,  and, 
indeed,  the  sundry  contemplation  of  my  travels,  in  which  my  often 
rumination  wraps  me  in  a  most  humorous  ^  sadness. 

Rosalind.  A  traveler  !  By  my  faith,  you  have  great  reason  to 
be  sad.  I  fear  you  have  sold  yotu-  own  lands  to  see  other  men's ; 
then  to  have  seen  much  and  to  have  nothing  is  to  have  rich  eyes 
and  poor  hands. 

Jaques.    Yes,  I  have  gain'd  my  experience. 

Rosalind.  And  your  experience  makes  you  sad.  I  had  rather 
have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry  than  experience  to  make  me  sad ; 
and  to  travel  for  it  too  ! 

Enter  Ori.axdo. 

Orlando.    Good  day  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind  ! 

Jaques.  Nay,  then,  God  be  wi'  you,  an*  you  talk  in  blank 
verse.  \Exit. 

Rosalind.  Farewell,  Monsieur  Traveler ;  look  you  lisp  and  wear 
strange  suits,  disable-''  all  the  benefits  of  your  own  country,  be 
out  of  love  with  your  nativity,  and  almost  chide  God  for  making 
you  that  countenance  you  are,  or  I  will  scarce  think  you  have 
swam  in  a  gondola.^ — Why,  how  now,  Orlando!    where  have 

1  "  Modem  censure,"  i.e.,  ordinary  judgment. 

2  Fastidious.  3  Fanciful.  4   If.  5  Depreciate. 

^  Venice,  built  on  small  isUnds  iq  a  lagoon,  is  intersected  by  canals ;  and 


SCENE  I.]  AS  ror  LIKE  IT.  77 

you  been  all  this  while  ?  You  a  lover  !  An  vou  sen-e  me  such 
another  trick,  never  come  in  my  sight  more. 

Orlando.  My  fair  Rosahnd,  I  come  within  an  hour  of  my 
promise. 

Rosalind.  Break  an  hour's  promise  in  love  !  He  that  will 
divide  a  minute  into  a  thousand  parts,  and  break  but  a  part  of 
the  thousandth  part  of  a  minute  in  the  affairs  of  love,  it  may  be 
said  of  him  that  Cupid  hath  clapped  him  o'  the  shoulder,  but  I'll 
warrant  him  heart-whole. 

Orlando.    Pardon  me,  dear  Rosahnd. 

Rosalind.  Nay,  an  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  in  my 
sight.     I  had  as  lief  be  woo'd  of  a  snail. 

Orlando.    Of  a  snail  ? 

Rosalind.  Ay,  of  a  snail ;  for  though  he  comes  slowly,  he  car- 
ries his  house  on  his  head, — a  better  jointure,^  I  think,  than  you 
can  make  a  woman.  Come,  woo  me,  woo  me,  for  now  I  am 
in  a  hoHday  humor  and  like  enough  to  consent.  What  would 
you  say  to  me  now,  an  I  were  your  ver}',  ver\'  Rosalind  ? 

Orlando.    I  would  kiss  before  I  spoke. 

Rosalind.  Nay,  you  were  better  speak  first,  and  when  you 
were  graveled  2  for  lack  of  matter,  you  might  take  occasion  to 
kiss.  Very  good  orators,  when  they  are  out,  they  will  spit ;  and 
for  lovers  lacking — God  warn  us!  — matter,  the  cleanhest  shift 
is  to  kiss. 

Orlando.    How  if  the  kiss  be  denied  ? 

Rosalind.  Then  she  puts  you  to  entreaty,  and  there  begins 
new  matter. 

Orlando.   Who  could  be  out,  being  before  his  beloved  mistress  ? 

the  gondola,  the  Venetian  pleasure  boat,  serves  the  purpose  of  the  cab  or 
omnibus  of  other  cities.  In  the  sixteenth  century  Venice,  being  one  of  the 
gayest  and  most  attractive  capitals  of  Europe,  was  a  great  resort  of  travelers ; 
and  one  who  had  never  visited  that  city  —  never  "  swam  in  a  gondola"  —  was 
hardly  counted  a  traveler  at  all. 

1  "The  settlement  of  property  made  at  marriage  on  the  wife,  in  case  of 
her  husband  dying  before  lier." 

-  Run  aground,  figuratively. 


78  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv. 

Rosalind.  Marry,  that  should  you,  if  I  were  your  mistress,  or 
I  should  think  my  honesty  ranker  than  my  wit. 

Orlando.    What,  of  my  suit  ? 

Rosalind.  Not  out  of  your  apparel,  and  yet  out  of  your  suit. 
Am  not  I  your  Rosahnd  ? 

Orlando.  I  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  I  would  be 
talking  of  her. 

Rosalind.    Well,  in  her  person  I  say  I  will  not  have  you. 

Orlando.    Then  in  mine  own  person  I  die. 

Rosalitid.  No,  faith,  die  by  attorney.^  The  poor  world  is  al- 
most six  thousand  years  old,  and  in  all  this  time  there  was  not 
any  man  died  in  his  own  person,  videlicet,-  in  a  love  cause. 
Troilus  ^  had  his  brains  dash'd  out  with  a  Grecian  club ;  yet  he 
did  what  he  could  to  die  before,  and  he  is  one  of  the  patterns 
of  love.  Leander,  he  would  have  liv'd  many  a  fair  year,  though 
Hero  had  turn'd  nun,  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  hot  midsummer 
night ;  for,  good  youth,  he  went  but  forth  to  wash  him  in  the 
Hellespont,  and  being  taken  with  the  cramp,  was  drown'd ;  and 
the  foolish  chroniclers  of  that  age  found  it  was  "  Hero  of  Sestos."  ^ 
But  these  are  all  lies ;  men  have  died  from  time  to  time,  and 
worms  have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love. 

Orlando.  I  would  not  have  my  right  Rosalind  of  this  mind, 
for,  I  protest,  her  frown  might  kill  me. 

Rosalind.    By  this  hand,  it  will  not  kill  a  fly.      But  come,  now 

1  Substitute. 

2  Namely ;  usually  abbreviated  to  viz. 

3  A  son  of  Priam,  King  of  Troy,  who  was  killed  by  Achilles  during  the 
Trojan  War.  The  story  of  his  love  for  Cressida,  his  faith  and  her  perfidy,  is 
the  subject  of  Shakespeare's  tragedy  of  Troilus  and  Cressida. 

*  "Leander  .  .  .  Hero  of  Sestos."  The  story,  the  theme  of  many  poets, 
is  familiar.  Leander,  a  youth  of  Abydos,  enamored  of  Hero,  a  priestess  of 
Venus  at  Sestos,  nightly  swam  the  Hellespont  to  meet  her,  she  guiding  his 
course  by  a  torchlight  displayed  from  a  high  tower ;  till  on  one  wild  and 
stormy  night  the  adventurous  lover  was  drowned,  and  Hero  in  despair  threw 
herself  into  the  sea  and  perished  in  the  waves.  (See  Guerber's  Myths  of 
Greece  and  Rome,  pp.   1 1 1- 1 1 7. ) 


SCENE  1.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  79 

1  will  be  your  Rosalind  in  a  more  coming-on  disposition,  and 
ask  me  what  you  will,  I  will  grant  it. 

Orlando.    Then  love  me,  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.    Yes,  faith,  will  I,  Fridays  and  Saturdays  and  all. 

Orlando.    And  wilt  thou  have  me  ? 

Rosalijid.    Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Orlando.    What  sayest  thou  ? 

Rosalind.    Are  you  not  good  ? 

Orlando.    I  hope  so. 

Rosalind.  Why,  then,  can  one  desire  too  much  of  a  good 
thing  ?  —  Come,  sister,  you  shall  be  the  priest  and  marry  us. — 
Give  me  your  hand,  Orlando.  —  What  do  you  .say,  sister  ? 

Orlando.    Pray  thee,  marry,  us. 

Celia.    I  cannot  say  the  words. 

Rosalind.    You  must  begin,  "Will  you,  Orlando," — 

Celia.    Go  to.  —  Will  you,  Orlando,  have  to  w^ife  this  Rosalind  ? 

Orlando.    I  will. 

Rosalind.    Ay,  but  when  ? 

Orlando.    Why,  now  ;  as  fast  as  she  can  marry  us. 

Rosalind.  Then  you  must  say,  "  I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for 
wife." 

Orlando.    I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife. 

Rosalind.  I  might  ask  you  for  your  commission  ;  i  but — I  do 
take  thee,  Orlando,  for  my  husband.  There's  a  girl  goes  before  the 
priest ;  and  certainly  a  woman's  thought  runs  before  her  actions. 

Orlando.    So  do  all  thoughts  ;  they  are  wing'd. 

Rosalind.  Now  tell  me  how  long  you  would  have  her  aftei 
you  have  possess'd  her. 

Orlando.    For  ever  and  a  day. 

Rosalind.  Say  "a  day,"  without  the  "ever."  No,  no,  Orlando  ; 
men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December  when  they  wed ;  maids 
are  May  when  they  are  maids,  but  the  sky  changes  when  they 
are  wives.  I  will  be  more  jealous  of  thee  than  a  Barbary  cock 
pigeon  over  his  hen,  more  clamorous  than  a  parrot  against  rain, 

1  Warrant ;  authority. 


8o  SHAKESPEARE.  Uct  iv. 

more  newfangled  ^  than  an  ape,  more  giddy  in  my  desires  than  a 
monkey ;  I  will  weep  for  nothing,  like  Diana  in  the  fountain,^ 
and  I  will  do  that  when  you  are  dispos'd  to  be  merry ;  I  will 
laugh  like  a  hyen,'^  and  that  when  thou  art  inclin'd  to  sleep. 

Orlatido.    But  will  my  Rosalind  do  so  ? 

Rosalind.    By  my  life,  she  will  do  as  I  do. 

Orlando.    O,  but  she  is  w^'se. 

Rosalind.  Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do  this ;  the 
wiser,  the  waywarden  Make^  the  doors  upon  a  woman's  wit, 
and  it  will  out  at  the  casement ;  shut  that,  and  'twill  out  at  the 
keyhole ;  stop  that,  'twill  fly  with  the  smoke  out  at  the  chimney. 

Orlando.    For  these  two  hours,  Rosahnd,  I  will  leave  thee. 

Rosalind.    Alas  !  dear  love,  I  cannot  lack  thee  two  hours. 

Orlando.  I  must  attend  the  Duke  at  dinner ;  by  two  o'clock  I 
will  be  with  thee  again. 

Rosalind.  Ay,  go  your  ways,  go  your  ways ;  I  knew  what  you 
would  prove.  My  friends  told  me  as  much,  and  I  thought  no 
less.  That  flattering  tongue  of  yours  won  me ;  'tis  but  one  cast 
away,  and  so,  come,  death  ! — Two  o'clock  is  your  hour? 

Orlando.    Ay,  sweet  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.  By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  so  God  mend 
me,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not  dangerous,  if  you  break 
one  jot  of  your  promise,  or  come  one  minute  behind  your  hour,  I 
will  think  you  the  most  pathetical  ^  break-promise,  and  the  most 
hollow  lover,  and  the  most  unworthy  of  her  you  call  Rosalind, 
that  may  be  chosen  out  of  the  gross  band  of  the  unfaithful ; 
therefore  beware  my  censure  and  keep  your  promise. 

Orlando.  With  no  less  religion  than  if  thou  wert  indeed  my 
Rosalind.     So,  adieu  ! 

Rosalind.  Well,  Time  is  the  old  justice  that  examines  all  such 
offenders,  and  let  Time  try.     Adieu.  {Exit  Orlando. 

1  Changeable. 

2  Images  of  Diana  were,  and  are,  frequent  ornaments  in  fountains. 

3  Hyena.     The  bark  of  this  animal  is  not  unlike  a  rude  laugh. 
*  Close.  5  Canting ;  used  here  in  a  ludicrous  sense. 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  8l 

Celia.    You  have  simply  misused  our  sex  in  your  love  prate. 

Rosalind.  O  coz,  coz,  coz,  my  pretty  little  coz,  that  thou  didst 
know^  hovi^  many  fathom  deep  I  am  in  love  !  But  it  cannot  be 
sounded ;  my  affection  hath  an  unknown  bottom,  hke  the  bay  of 
Portugal.  1 

Celia.  Or  rather,  bottomless,  that  as  fast  as  you  pour  affection 
in,  it  rims  out. 

Rosalind.  No,  that  same  wicked  bastard  of  Venus  that  was 
begot  of  thought,  conceived  of  spleen,  and  born  of  madness,  —  that 
blind,  rascally  boy  that  abuses  every  one's  eyes  because  his  own 
are  out, — let  him  be  judge  how  deep  I  am  in  love.  I'll  tell  thee, 
AHena,  I  cannot  be  out  of  the  sight  of  Orlando ;  I'll  go  find  a 
shadow,"  and  sigh  till  he  come. 

Celia.    And  I'll  sleep.  \Exen7it. 

Scene  II.    The  Forest. 

Enter  Jaques,  Lords,  and  Foresters. 

Jaques.    Which  is  he  that  killed  the  deer  ? 

A  Lord.    Sir,  it  was  I. 

Jaques.  Let's  present  him  to  the  Duke,  like  a  Roman  con- 
queror ;  and  it  would  do  well  to  set  the  deer's  horns  upon  his 
head,  for  a  branch  of  victory.  —  Have  you  no  song,  forester,  for 
this  purpose  ? 

Forester.    Yes,  sir. 

Jaques.  Sing  it ;  'tis  no  matter  how  it  be  in  tune,  so  it  make 
noise  enough. 

Song. 

Forester.         What  shall  he  have  that  kilVd  the  deer? 
His  leather  skin  and  horns  to  wear. 
Then  sing  him  home  j 

[The  rest  shall  bear  this  burden. 

1  There  is  no  such  bay  recognized  by  geographers ;  but  off  the  coast  of 
Portugal,  near  Oporto,  the  water  is  exceedingly  deep,  and  at  a  distance  of 
twenty  miles  from  shore  attains  a  depth  of  eightv-five  hundred  feet. 

2  Shady  place. 

6 


82  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv. 

Take  thou  no  scorn  to  wear  the  horn  j 
It  was  a  crest  ere  thou  wast  bom\ 

Thy  father'' s  father  wore  it, 

And  thy  father  bore  it 
The  horn,  the  horn,  the  lusty  horn, 
Is  not  a  thing  to  laugh  to  scorn.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  III.    The  Forest. 
Enter  Rosalind   and  Celia. 

Rosalind.  How  say  you  now  ?  Is  it  not  past  two  o'clock  ? 
and  here  much  Orlando  ! 

Celia.  I  warrant  you,  with  pure  love  and  troubled  brain,  he 
hath  ta'en  his  bow  and  arrows  and  is  gone  forth  —  to  sleep. — 
Look  who  comes  here. 

Enter  SiLVius. 

Silvius.    My  errand  is  to  you,  fair  youth. 
My  gentle  Phebe  bid  me  give  you  this.  \GiviJig  a  letter. 

I  know  not  the  contents' ;  but,  as  I  guess 
By  the  stern  brow  and  waspish  action 
Which  she  did  use  as  she  was  writing  of  it, 
It  bears  an  angry  tenor.     Pardon  me ; 
I  am  but  as  a  guiltless  messenger. 

Rosalind.    Patience  herself  would  startle  at  this  letter, 
And  play  the  swaggerer ;  bear  this,  bear  all ! 
She  says  I  am  not  fair,  that  I  lack  manners ; 
She  calls  me  proud,  and  that  she  could  not  love  me 
Were  man  as  rare  as  phenix.^     'Od's  my  will  ! 
Her  love  is  not  the  hare  that  I  do  hunt. 
Why  writes  she  so  to  me  ?  — Well,  shepherd,  well. 
This  is  a  letter  of  your  own  device.  1 

^  According  to  the  old  and  familiar  fable,  this  bird,  after  living  five  hun 
dred  years,  destroys  itself  by  fire,  and  its  successor  arises  from  the  ashes, 
there  being  but  one  phenix  in  existence  at  a  tinif". 


SCENE  III.]  JS    YOU  LIKE   IT.  ^^ 

Silvius.    No,  I  protest,  I  know  not  the  contents' ; 
Phebe  did  write  it. 

Rosalind.  Come,  come,  you  are  a  fool, 

And  turn'd  into  the  extremity  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand ;  she  has  a  leathern  hand, 
A  freestone-color'd  hand ;  I  verily  did  think 
That  her  old  gloves  were  on,  but  'twas  her  hands ; 
She  has  a  huswife's  hand ;  but  that's  no  matter. 
I  say  she  never  did  invent  this  letter ; 
This  is  a  man's  invention  and  his  hand. 

Silvius.    Sure,  it  is  hers. 

Rosalind.    Why,  'tis  a  boisterous  and  a  cruel  style, 
A  style  for  challengers ;  why,  she  defies  me. 
Like  Turk  to  Christian !      Woman's  gentle  brain 
Could  not  drop  forth  such  giant-rude  invention. 
Such  Ethiop  words,  blacker  in  their  effect 
Than  in  their  countenance.     Will  you  hear  the  letter  ? 

Silvius.    So  please  you,  for  I  never  heard  it  yet ; 
Yet  heard  too  much  of  Phebe's  cruelty. 

Rosalind.    She  Phebes  me ;  mark  how  the  tyrant  writes. 

\Reads. 

Art  thou  god  to  shepherd  turned, 
That  a  maiden's  heart  hath  turn'd? — 

Can  a  woman  rail  thus  ? — 
Silvius.    Call  you  this  railing  ? 
Rosalind.    [Reads] 

Why,  thy  godhead  laid  apart, 
Warr'st  thou  with  a  wotnan's  heart? — 

Did  you  ever  hear  such  railing  ?  — 

Whiles  the  eye  of  7nan  did  woo  me. 
That  could  do  no  vengeance  to  me. — 

Meaning  me  a  beast. — » 


84  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv. 

If  the  scorn  of  your  bright  eyne  i 
Have  power  to  raise  such  love  in  mine, 
Alack,  in  me  what  strange  effect 
Would  they  work  in  viild  aspect'  ! 
Whiles  you  chid  me,  I  did  love  ; 
How  theti  might  yoicr prayers  move  I 
He  that  brings  this  love  to  thee 
Little  knows  th's  love  in  me ; 
And  by  him  seal  up  thy  mind ; 
Whether  that  thy  youth  and  kind^ 
Will  the  faithful  offer  take 
Of  me  and  all  that  I  can  make  ; 
Or  else  by  him  my  love  deny. 
And  then  P II  study  how  to  die. 

Silvius.    Call  you  this  chiding  ? 

Celia.    Alas,  poor  shepherd  ! 

Rosalind.  Do  you  pity  him  ?  No,  he  deserves  no  pity.  —  Wilt 
thou  love  such  a  woman  ?  What,  to  make  thee  an  instrument 
and  play  false  ^trains  upon  thee  !  —  not  to  be  endur'd  !  — Well,  go 
yoiu-  way  to  her — for  I  see  love  hath  made  thee  a  tame  snake-* 
—  and  say  this  to  her:  that  if  she  love  me,  I  charge  her  to  love 
thee ;  if  she  will  not,  I  will  never  have  her  unless  thou  entreat 
for  her.  If  you  be  a  true  lover,  hence,  and  not  a  word  ;  for  here 
comes  more  company,  \Exit  Silvius. 

Enter  Oliver. 

Oliver.    Good  morrow,  fair  ones ;  pray  you,  if  you  know, 
Where  in  the  purheus  "*  of  this  forest  stands 
A  sheepcote  fenc'd  about  with  olive  trees  ? 

Celia.    West  of  this  place,  down  in  the  neighbor  bottom ; 
The  rank  ^  of  osiers  by  the  murmuring  stream 
Left  on  your  right  hand  brings  you  to  the  place. 
But  at  this  hour  the  house  doth  keep  itself ; 
There's  none  within. 

1  The  old  plural  of  "eye."  2  Natural  disposition. 

3  Contemptible  fellow.  *  Borders.  5  Row. 


SCENE  III.]  AS    YOU  LIKE   IT.  »5 

Oliver.    If  that  an  eye  may  profit  by  a  tongue, 
Then  should  I  know  you  by  description ; 
Such  garments  and  such  years :  "  The  boy  is  fair, 
Of  female  favor,  and  bestows  ^  himself 
Like  a  ripe  ^  sister ;  the  woman  low, 
And  browner  than  her  brother."     Are  not  you 
The  owner  of  the  house  I  did  inquire  for  ? 

Celia.    It  is  no  boast,  being  ask'd,  to  say  we  are. 

Oliver.    Orlando  doth  commend  him  to  you  both, 
And  to  that  youth  he  calls  his  Rosahnd 
He  sends  this  bloody  napkin.^  —  Are  you  he  ? 

Rosalind.    I  am.     What  must  we  understand  by  this  ? 

Oliver.    Some  of  my  shame  ;  if  you  will  know  of  me     , 
What  man  I  am,  and  how  and  why  and  where 
This  handkercher  was  stain'd. 

Celia.  I  pray  you,  tell  it. 

Oliver.    When  last  the  young  Orlando  parted  from  you 
He  left  a  promise  to  return  again 
Within  an  hour;  and  pacing  through  the  forest, 
Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy, 
Lo,  what  befell  !      He  threw  his  eye  aside, 
And  mark  what  object  did  present  itself ; 
Under  an  oak,  whose  boughs  were  moss'd  with  age. 
And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 
A  wretched,  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair, 
Lay  sleeping  on  his  back.     About  his  neck 
A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreath'd  itself, 
Who  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats,  approach'd 
The  opening  of  his  mouth ;  but  suddenly, 
Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlink'd  itself. 
And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 
Into  a  bush  ;  under  which  bush's  shade 
A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry, 
Lay  couching,^  head  on  ground,  with  catlike  watch, 

I  Conducts.  2  Elder.  3  Handkerchief.  ^  Crouching. 


86  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv. 

When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir ;  for  'tis 
The  royal  disposition  of  that  beast 
To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead. 
This  seen,  Orlando  did  approach  the  man, 
And  found  it  was  his  brother,  his  elder  brother. 

Celia.    O,  I  have  heard  him  speak  of  that  same  brother ; 
And  he  did  render  ^  him  the  most  unnatural 
That  liv'd  'mongst  men. 

Oliver.  And  well  he  might  so  do, 

For  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 

Rosalind.    But,  to  Orlando :  did  he  leave  him  there, 
Food  to  the  suck'd  and  hungry  lioness  ? 

Oliver.    Twice  did  he  turn  his  back  and  purpos'd  so ; 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge, 
And  nature,  stronger  than  his  just  occasion. 
Made  him  give  battle  to  the  lioness, 
Who  quickly  fell  before  him ;  in  which  hurtling  2 
From  miserable  slumber  I  awaked. 

Celia.    Are  you  his  brother  ? 

Rosalind.  Was't  you  he  rescu'd  ? 

Celia.    Was't  you  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill  him  ? 

Oliver.    'Twas  I ;  but  'tis  not  I.      I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  was,  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  being  the  thing  I  am. 

Rosalind.    But,  for  the  bloody  napkin  ? 

Oliver.  By  and  by. 

When  from  the  first  to  last  betwixt  us  two 
Tears  our  recountments  had  most  kindly  bath'd, 
As  how  I  came  into  that  desert  place; — 
In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  Duke, 
Who  gave  me  fresh  array  and  entertainment, 
Committing  me  unto  my  brother's  love ; 
Who  led  me  instantly  unto  his  cave, 
There  stripp'd  himself,  and  here  upon  his  arm 

"'  Report.  2  Noise  of  the  conflict. 


SCENE  III. J  JS    VOr  LIKE   IT.  87 

The  lioness  had  torn  some  flesh  away, 

Which  all  this  while  had  bled ;  and  now  he  fainted, 

And  cried,  in  fainting,  upon  Rosalind. 

Brief,  I  recover'd  him,  bound  up  his  wound ; 

And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at  heart, 

He  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  I  am. 

To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 

His  broken  promise,  and  to  give  this  napkin 

Dyed  in  his  blood  unto  the  shepherd  youth 

That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  Rosalind.  \Rosalind  swoons. 

Celia.    Why,  how  now,  Ganymede  !  sweet  Ganymede  ! 

Oliver.    Many  will  swoon  when  they  do  look  on  blood. 

Celia.    There  is  more  in  it. —  Cousin — Ganymede  1 

Oliver.    Look,  he  recovers. 

Rosalind.    I  would  I  were  at  home. 

Celia.  We'll  lead  you  thither. — 

I  pray  you,  will  you  take  him  by  the  arm  ? 

Oliver.  Be  of  good  che^sr,  youth.  You  a  man!  you  lack  a 
man's  heart. 

Rosalind.  I  do  so,  I  confess  it.  Ah,  sirrah,  a  body  would 
think  this  was  well  counterfeited  !  I  pray  you,  tell  your  brother 
how  well  I  counterfeited.  —  Heigh-ho  ! 

Oliver.  This  was  not  counterfeit ;  there  is  too  great  testimony 
in  your  complexion  that  it  was  a  passion  of  earnest. 

Rosalind.    Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 

Oliver.  Well,  then,  take  a  good  heart  and  counterfeit  to  be  a 
man. 

Rosalind.  So  I  do ;  but,  i'  faith,  I  should  have  been  a  woman 
by  right. 

Celia.  Come,  you  look  paler  and  paler ;  pray  you,  draw 
homewards.  —  Good  sir,  go  with  us. 

Oliver.    That  will  I,  for  I  must  bear  answer  back 
How  you  excuse  my  brother,  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.  I  shall  devise  something ;  but,  I  pray  you,  com- 
mend my  counterfeiting  to  him.  —  Will  you  go  ?  \ Exeunt. 


88  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

ACT   V. 

Scene  I.    The  Forest. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Touchstone.  We  shall  find  a  time,  Audrey ;  patience,  gentle 
Audrey. 

Audrey.  Faith,  the  priest  was  good  enough,  for  all  the  old 
gentleman's  saying. 

Touchstone.  A  most  wicked  Sir  Oliver,  Audrey,  a  most  vile 
Martext.  But,  Audrey,  there  is  a  youth  here  in  the  forest  lays 
claim  to  you, 

Audrey.  Ay,  I  know  who  'tis;  he  hath  no  interest  in  me  in 
the  world.     Here  comes  the  man  you  mean. 

Touchstone.  It  is  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  see  a  clown.  By 
my  troth,  we  that  have  good  wits  have  much  to  answer  for ;  we 
shall  be  flouting ;  we  cannot  hold.^ 

^«/^r  William. 

William.    Good  even,  Audrey. 
Audrey.    God  ye  good  even,-  William. 
William.    And  good  even  to  you,  sir. 

Touchstone.    Good  even,  gentle  friend.    Cover  thy  head,  cover 
thy  head ;  nay,  prithee,  be  cover'd.     How  old  are  you,  friend  ? 
William,    Five  and  twenty,  sir. 
Touchstone.    A  ripe  age.     Is  thy  name  William  ? 
William.    William,  sir. 

Touchstone.    A  fair  name.     Wast  born  i'  the  forest  here  ? 
William.    Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Totichsto7te.    "Thank  God," — a  good  answer.     Art  rich  ? 
William.    Faith,  sir,  so-so. 

^  '*  We  cannot  hold,"  i.e.,  we  cannot  restrain  ourselves;  we  must  have 
our  gibe. 

2  "  God  ye  good  even,"  i.e.,  God  give  you  good  even. 


SCENE  I.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  89 

Touchstone.    "  So-so  "  is  good,  very  good,  very  excellent  good  ; 

—  and  yet  it  is  not ;  it  is  but  so-so.     Art  thou  wise  ? 
William.    Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pretty  wit. 

Touchstone.  Why,  thou  say'st  well.  I  do  now  remember  a  say- 
ing, "  The  fool  doth  think  he  is  wise,  but  the  wise  man  knows 
himself  to  be  a  fool."  The  heathen  philosopher,  when  he  had  a 
desire  to  eat  a  grape,  would  open  his  hps  when  he  put  it  into  his 
mouth ;  meaning  thereby  that  grapes  were  made  to  eat  and  lips 
to  open.     You  do  love  this  maid  ? 

William.    I  do,  sir. 

Touchstone.    Give  me  your  hand.     Art  ihou  learned  ? 

William.    No,  sir. 

Touchstone.  Then  learn  this  of  me :  to  have  is  to  have ;  for  it 
is  a  figure  in  rhetoric  that  drink,  being  pour'd  out  of  a  cup  into  a 
glass,  by  filling  the  one  doth  empty  the  other ;  for  all  your  writers 
do  consent  that  ipse  is  he ;  now,  you  are  not  ipse,  for  I  am  he. 

William.    Which  he,  sir  ? 

Touchstone.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman.  Therefore, 
you  clown,  abandon — which  is  in  the  vulgar  leave  —  the  society 

—  which  in  the  boorish  is  company — of  this  female — which  in 
the  common  is  woman ;  which  together  is,  abandon  the  society 
of  this  female,  or,  clown,  thou  perishest ;  or,  to  thy  better  under- 
standing, diest ;  or,  to  wit,  I  kill  thee,  make  thee  away,  translate 
thy  life  into  death,  thy  hberty  into  bondage ;  I  will  deal  in  poi- 
son with  thee,  or  in  bastinado,^  or  in  steel;  I  will  bandy 2  with 
thee  in  faction ;  I  will  o'errun  thee  with  pohcy ;  I  will  kill  thee 
a  hundred  and  fifty  ways ;  therefore  tremble,  and  depart. 

Audrey.    Do,  good  Wilham. 

William.    God  rest  you  merry,  sir.  \Exit. 

Enter  CoRlN. 

Corin.    Our  master  and  mistress  seek  you ;  come,  away,  away  ! 
Touchstone.    Trip,  Audrey  !  trip,  Audrey  !  — I  attend,  I  attend. 

[Exeunt. 
1  A  blow  with  a  cudgel.  2  Contend. 


90  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

Scene  II.    The  Forest. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Oliver. 

Orlajido.  Is't  possible  that  on  so  little  acquaintance  you  should 
like  her  ?  that  but  seeing  you  should  love  her  ?  and  loving  woo  ? 
and  wooing  she  should  grant  ?  and  will  you  persever  ^  to  enjoy 
her? 

Oliver.  Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  in  question,  the  poverty 
of  her,  the  small  acquaintance,  my  sudden  wooing,  nor  her  sud- 
den consenting ;  but  say  with  me,  I  love  Aliena ;  say  with  her 
that  she  loves  me  ;  consent  with  both  that  we  may  enjoy  each 
other.  It  shall  be  to  your  good  ;  for  my  father's  house  and  all  the 
revenue  that  was  old  Sir  Rowland's  will  I  estate  upon  you,  and 
here  live  and  die  a  shepherd. 

Orlando.  You  have  my  consent.  Let  your  wedding  be  to- 
morrow. Thither  will  I  invite  the  Duke  and  all's  contented  fol- 
lowers. Go  you  and  prepare  Aliena ;  for  look  you,  here  comes 
my  Rosalind. 

Enter  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.    God  save  you,  brother. 

Oliver.    And  you,  fair  sister.  \Exit. 

Rosalind.  O  my  dear  Orlando,  hov/  it  grieves  me  to  see  thee 
wear  thy  heart  in  a  scarf  ! 

Orlando.    It  is  my  arm. 

Rosalind.  I  thought  thy  heart  had  been  wounded  with  the 
claws  of  a  lion. 

Orlando.    Wounded  it  is,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  lady. 

Rosalifid.  Did  your  brother  tell  you  how  1  counterfeited  to 
swoon  when  he  show'd  me  your  handkercher  ? 

Orlando.    Ay,  and  greater  wonders  than  that. 

Rosalind.  O,  I  know  where  you  are.- —  Nay,  'tis  true  ;  there  was 
never  anything  so  sudden  but  the  fight  of  two  rams,  and  Caesar's 

1  Persevere  (accent  on  the  second  syllable). 

2  "  Where  you  are,"  i.e.,  what  you  mean. 


{ 


SCENE  II.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  91 

thrasonical  1  brag  of  "  I  came,  saw,  and  overcame."  ^  For  your 
brother  and  my  sister  no  sooner  met  but  they  look'd,  no  sooner 
look'd  but  they  lov'd,  no  sooner  lov'd  but  they  sigh'd,  no  sooner 
sigh'd  but  they  ask'd  one  another  the  reason,  no  sooner  knew  the 
reason  but  they  sought  the  remedy ;  and  in  these  degrees  have 
they  made  a  pair  of  staiis  to  marriage  which  they  will  climb  in- 
continent ;  •'  they  are  in  the  very  wrath  of  love,  and  they  will  to- 
gether ;  clubs  cannot  part  ihem. 

OrhiJido.  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow,  and  I  will  bid  the 
Duke  to  the  nuptial.  But,  O,  how  bitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look  into 
happiness  through  another  man's  eyes  !  By  so  much  the  more 
shall  I  to-morrow  be  at  the  height  of  heart-heaviness,  by  how 
much  I  shall  think  my  brother  happy  in  having  what  he  wishes 
for. 

Rosalind.  Why,  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  your  turn  for 
Rosalind  ? 

Orlando.    I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking. 

Rosalind.  I  will  weary  you  then  no  longer  with  idle  talking. 
Know  of  me  then  —  for  now  I  speak  to  some  purpose  —  that  I 
know  you  are  a  gentleman  of  good  conceit.'^  I  speak  not  this 
that  you  should  bear  a  good  opinion  of  my  knowledge,  insomuch 
I  say  I  know  you  are ;  neither  do  I  labor  for  a  greater  esteem 
than  may  in  some  little  measure  draw  a  belief  from  you,  to  do 
yourself  good  and  not  to  grace  me.  Believe  then,  if  you  please, 
that  I  can  do  strange  things.  I  have,  since  I  was  three  year  old, 
convers'd  with  a  magician,  most  profound  in  his  art  and  yet  not 
damnable.^  If  you  do  love  Rosalind  so  near  the  heart  as  your 
gesture*'  cries  it  out,  when  your  brother  marries  Aliena,  shall  you 
marry  her.    I  know  into  what  straits  of  fortune  she  is  driven ;  and 

1  Extravagantly  boastful. 

2  It  was  after  his  swift  and  total  defeat  of  Pharnaces,  King  of  Pontus,  at 
Zela  (45  B.C.),  that  Julius  Csesar  sent  to  the  Roman  senate  the  celebrated  dis- 
patch,  Vcni,  vidi,  vici  ("  I  came,  1  saw,  I  overcame"). 

3  Immediately.  *  Intelligence. 

5  Worthy  of  condemnation.  6  Speech  and  action. 


92  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v 

it  is  not  impossible  to  me,  if  it  appear  not  inconvenient  to  you 
to  set  her  before  your  eyes  to-morrow,  human  as  she  is  and  with- 
out any  danger. 

Orlando.    Speak'st  thou  in  sober  meanings  ? 

Rosalind.  By  my  hfe,  I  do ;  which  I  tender  dearly,  ^  though  I 
say  I  am  a  magician.^  Therefore  put  you  in  your  best  array ; 
bid  your  friends  ;  for  if  you  will  be  married  to-morrow,  you  shall 
and  to  Rosalind,  if  you  will. 

Enter  SiLVius  and  Phebe. 

Look,  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine  and  a  lover  of  hers. 

Phebe.    Youth,  you  have  done  me  much  ungentleness, 
To  show  the  letter  that  I  writ  "^  to  you. 

Rosalind.    I  care  not  if  I  have ;  it  is  vtxy  study 
To  seem  despiteful  and  ungentle  to  you. 
You  are  there  followed  by  a  faithful  shepherd ; 
Look  upon  him,  love  him ;  he  worships  you. 

Phebe.    Good  shepherd,  tell  this  youth  what  'tis  to  love. 

Silvins.    It  is  to  be  all  made  of  sighs  and  tears ; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 
.   Phebe.    And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orlando.    And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.    And  I  for  no  woman. 

Silvius.    It  is  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and  sendee ; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phebe.    And  I  for  Ganymede, 

Orlando.    And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.    And  I  for  no  woman. 

Sih'ius.    It  is  to  be  all  made  of  fantasy, 
All  made  of  passion  and  all  made  of  wishes, 

1   "  Tender  dearly,"  i.e.,  value  highly. 

^  Under  the  provisions  of  statutes  in  force  in  England  in  Shakespeare's 
time,  the  practice  of  witchcraft,  magic,  etc.,  was  an  offense  punishable  with 
one  year's  imprisonment  for  the  first  conviction,  and  death  and  forfeiture  of 
goods  for  the  second.  3  Old  form  of  "  wrote," 


SCENE  iii.j  AS    YOU  LIKE   IT.  93 

All  adoration,  duty,  and  observance,' 

All  humbleness,  all  patience  and  impatience, 

All  purity,  all  trial,  all  observance ; 

And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phebe.    And  so  am  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orlando.    And  so  am  I  for  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.    And  so  am  I  for  no  woman. 

Phebe.    If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

Silvius.    If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

Orlando.    If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

Rosalind.  Who  do  you  speak  to,  "  Why  blame  you  me  to 
love  you  ?  " 

Orlando.    To  her  that  is  not  here,  nor  doth  not  hear, 

Rosalind.  Pray  you,  no  more  of  this ;  'tis  like  the  howhng  of 
Irish  wolves-  against  the  moon.  —  [To  Silvius]  I  will  help  you,  if 
I  can. —  [To  Phebe\  I  would  love  you,  if  I  could. — To-morrow 
meet  me  all  together.  —  [To  Phebe\  I  will  marry  you,  if  ever  I 
marry  woman,  and  I'll  be  married  to-morrow. —  [To  Orlando]  I 
will  satisfy  you,  if  ever  I  satisfi'd  man,  and  you  shall  be  married 
to-morrow. —  [To  Silviiis]  I  will  content  you,  if  what  pleases  you 
contents  you,  and  you  shall  be  married  to-morrow.  —  [  To  Orlando] 
As  you  love  Rosalind,  meet.— [7^  Silvius]  As  you  love  Phebe, 
meet; — and  as  I  love  no  woman,  I'll  meet.  —  So  fare  you  well; 
I  have  left  you  commands. 

Silvius.    I'll  not  fail,  if  I  live. 

Phebe.    Nor  I. 

Orlando.    Nor  I.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.    The  Forest. 
Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Touchstone.  To-morrow  is  the  joyful  day,  Audrey  ;  to-morrow 
will  we  be  married. 

1  Readiness  to  serve. 

2  The  howling  of  a  pack  of  wolves  is  monotonous  and  dismal  whenever 
and  wherever  heard. 


94  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

Audrey.  I  do  desire  it  with  all  my  heart ;  and  I  hope  it  is  no 
dishonest  desire  to  desire  to  be  a  woman  of  the  world. ^  Here 
come  two  of  the  banish'd  Duke's  pages. 

Enter  two  Pages. 

First  Page.    Well  met,  honest  gentleman. 

Touchstofie.    By  my  troth,  well  met.     Come,  sit,  sit,  and  a  song. 

Second  Page.    We  are  for  you ;  sit  i'  the  middle. 

First  Page.  Shall  we  clap  into't  roundly,  without  hawking  of 
spitting  or  saying  we  are  hoarse,  which  are  the  only  2  prologues 
to  a  bad  voice  ? 

Second  Page.  V  faith,  i'  faith ;  and  both  in  a  tune,  like  two 
gypsies  on  a  horse. 

Song. 

//  was  a  lover  and  his  lass, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino. 
That  o'er  the  green  cornjield  did  pass 

In  the  springtime,  the  only  pretty  ringtime. 
When  birds  do  sifig,  hey  ding  a  ding,  ding; 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 

Between  the  acres  of  the  rye, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  7ioninOy 
These  pretty  country  folks  would  lie, 

hi  springtime,  etc. 

This  carol  they  begatt  that  hottr, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  noninOy 
How  that  a  life  was  but  a  flower 

In  springtime,  etc.  i 

And  therefore  take  the  present  time. 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino; 
For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime 

In  springtime,  etc. 

^  "  A  woman  of  the  world,"  i.e.,  a  married  woman. 
2  "  The  only,"  i.e.,  only  the. 


SCENE  IV.]  AS    you  LIKE  IT.  95 

Toiuhstone.  Truly,  young  gentlemen,  though  there  was  no 
sreat  matter  in  the  dilty,  yet  the  note  was  very  untunable. 

First  Page.  You  are  deceiv'd,  sir ;  we  kept  time,  we  lost  not 
our  time. 

Touchstone.  By  my  troth,  yes  ;  I  count  it  but  time  lost  to  hear 
such  a  foolish  song.  God  be  wi'  you ;  and  God  mend  your 
voices  !  — Come,  Audrey.  [Exeunt. 

^  Scene  IV.    The  Forest. 

£nt^rT)VKK  Senior,  Amiens,  Jaques,  Orlando,  Oliver,  ^w^'Celia. 

Duke  S.    Dost  thou  believe,  Orlando,  that  the  boy 
Can  do  all  this  that  he  hath  promised  ? 

Orlando.    I  sometimes  do  believe,  and  sometimes  do  not ; 
As  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

^«/^r  Rosalind,  Silvius,  ««</ Phebe. 

Rosalind.    Patience  once  more,  whiles  our  compact'  is  urg'd. — 
You  say,  if  I  bring  in  your  Rosalind, 
You  will  bestow  her  on  Orlando  here  ? 

Duke  S.    That  would  I,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give  with  her. 

Rosalind.    And  you  say  you  will  have  her,  when  I  bring  her  ? 

Orlando.    That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king. 

Rosalind.    You  say  you'll  marry  me,  if  I  be  willing  ? 

Phebe.    That  will  I,  should  I  die  the  hour  after. 

Rosalind.    But  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me, 
You'll  give  yourself  to  this  most  faithful  shepherd  ? 

Phebe.    So  is  the  bargain. 

Rosalind.    You  say  that  you'll  have  Phebe,  if  she  will  ? 

Silvius.    Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  both  one  thing, 

Rosalind.    I  have  promis'd  to  make  all  this  matter  even. — 
Keep  you  your  word,  O  Duke,  to  give  your  daughter. — 
You  yours,  Orlando,  to  receive  his  daughter. — 
Keep  your  word,  Phebe,  that  you'll  marry  me, 
Or  else  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd. — 


96  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

Keep  your  word,  Silvius,  that  you'll  marry  her, 

If  she  refuse  me:  —  and  from  hence  I  go, 

To  make  these  doubts  all  even.  \Exeunt  Rosalind  atid  Celut. 

Duke  S.    I  do  remember  in  this  shepherd  boy 
Some  lively  touches  of  my  daughter's  favor. 

Orlando.    My  lord,  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  him 
Methought  he  was  a  brother  to  your  daughter ; 
But,  my  good  lord,  this  boy  is  forest-born, 
And  hath  been  tutor'd  in  the  rudiments 
Of  many  desperate  ^  studies  by  his  uncle, 
^^'hom  he  reports  to  be  a  great  magician, 
Obscured  in  the  circle  of  this  forest. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Jaqiies.  There  is,  sure,  another  flood  toward,-  and  these  couples 
are  coming  to  the  ark.  Here  comes  a  pair  of  very  strange  beasts, 
which  in  all  tongues  are  called  fools. 

Touchstone.    Salutation  and  greeting  to  you  all  ! 

Jaqiies.  Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome.  This  is  the  motley- 
minded  gentleman  that  I  have  so  often  met  in  the  forest ;  he 
hath  been  a  courtier,  he  swears. 

Touchstone.  If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me  to  my 
purgation.  I  have  trod  a  measure ;  ^  I  have  flatter'd  a  lady ; 
I  have  been  politic  with  my  friend,  smooth  with  mine  enemy ; 
I  have  undone  three  tailors  ;  I  have  had  four  quarrels,  and  like 
to  have  fought  one. 

Jaques.    And  how  was  that  ta'en  up  ?  ^ 

Touchstone.  Faith,  we  met,  and  found  the  quarrel  was  upon 
the  seventh  cause. 

Jaques.    How  seventh  cause  ?  —  Good  my  lord,  like  this  fellow. 

Duke  S.    I  like  hnn  verv  well. 

Touchstone.  God  'ild  you,  sir  ;  I  desire  you  of  the  like.  I  press 
in  here,  sir,  amongst  the  rest  of  the  country  copulatives,^  to  3wear 

1   Unlawful.  2  At  hand.  3  Stately  dance. 

*  Taken  up,  i.e.,  made  up.  5  Candidates  for  marriage. 


I 


SCENE  IV.]  JS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  97 

and  to  forswear ;  according  as  marriage  binds  and  blood  breaks. 
A  poor  virgin,  sir,  an  ill-favor'd  thing,  sir,  but  mine  own  ;  a  poor 
humor  of  mine,  sir,  to  take  that  that  no  man  else  will.  Rich  hon- 
esty dwells  like  a  miser,  sir,  in  a  poor  house ;  as  your  pear)  in 
your  foul  oyster. 

Duke  S.    By  my  faith,  he  is  very  swift  and  sententious.' 

Touchstone.  According  to  the  fool's  bolt,-  sir,  and  such  dulcet 
diseases. 

Jaqices.  But,  for  the  seventh  cause ;  how  did  you  find  the 
quarrel  on  the  seventh  cause  ? 

Touchstone.  Upon  a  he  seven  times  removed, — bear  your 
body  more  seeming,-^  Audrey, — as  thus,  sir.  I  did  dislike  the 
cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard ;  he  sent  me  word,  if  I  said  his 
beard  was  not  cut  well,  he  was  in  the  mind  it  was ;  this  is  call'd 
the  Retort  Courteous.  If  I  sent  him  word  again  it  was  not 
well  cut,  he  would  send  me  word  he  cut  it  to  please  himself ; 
this  is  call'd  the  Quip*  Modest.  If,  again,  it  was  not  well  cut, 
he  disabled  my  judgment ;  this  is  call'd  the  Reply  Churlish.  If 
again  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  answer,  I  spake  not  true; 
this  is  call'd  the  Reproof  Valiant.  If  again  it  was  not  well  cut, 
he  would  say,  I  Hed;  this  is  call'd  the  Countercheck  Quarrel- 
some ;  and  so  to  the  Lie  Circumstantial  and  the  Lie  Direct. 

Jaques.    And  how  oft  did  you  say  his  beard  was  not  well  cut  ? 

Touchstone.  I  durst  go  no  further  than  the  Lie  Circumstantial, 
nor  he  durst  not  give  me  the  Lie  Direct;  and  so  we  measur'd 
swords  and  parted. 

Jaques.    Can  you  nominate  in  order  now  the  degrees  of  the  lie  ? 

Touchstone.  O  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print,  by  the  book,  as  you 
have  books  for  good  manners.  I  will  name  you  the  degrees. 
The  first,  the  Retort  Courteous ;  the  second,  the  Quip  Modest ; 
the  third,  the  Reply  Churlish ;  the  fourth,  the  Reproof  Valiant ; 
the  fifth,  the  Countercheck  Quarrelsome ;  the  sixth,  the  Lie  with 

1  "  Swift  and  sententious,"  i.e.,  ready-witted. 

2  "  The  fool's  bolt  is  soon  shot "  is  proverbial. 

3  Seemly.  ■*  A  quip  is  a  gibe. 

7 


9 8  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

Circumstance ;  the  seventh,  the  Lie  Direct.  All  these  you  may 
avoid  but  the  Lie  Direct ;  and  you  may  avoid  that,  too,  with  an 
If.  I  knew  when  seven  justices  could  not  take  up  a  quarrel, 
but  when  the  parties  were  met  themselves,  one  of  them  thought 
but  of  an  If,  as,  "If  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so;"  and  they 
shook  hands  and  swore  brothers.  Your  If  is  the  only  peace- 
maker ;  much  virtue  in  If. 

Jaqiies.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord  ?  He's  as  good  at 
anything,  and  yet  a  fool. 

Duke  S.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse,^  and  under 
the  presentation  of  that  he  shoots  his  wit. 

Enter  Hymen,  Rosalind,  and  Celia. 

\Still  music. 
Hymen.    Then  is  there  mirth  in  heaven. 
When  earthly  things  made  even 

Atone  together.2 
Good  Duke,  receive  thy  daughter; 
Hymen  ^  from  heaven  brought  her, 

Yea,  brought  her  hither, 
That  thou  mightst  join  her  hand  with  his 
Whose  heart  within  her  bosom  is. 

Rosaliiid.  [  To  Duke]  To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours.  — 
[  To  Or/aiido]  To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 

Duke  S.    If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  daughter. 

Orlando.    If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  Rosalind 

Phebe.    If  sight  and  shape  be  true, 
Why,  then,  my  love,  adieu  ! 

Rosalind.    [To  Duke]   I'll  have  no  father,  if  you  be  not  he. — 
[To  Orlando]  I'll  have  no  husband,  if  you  be  not  he. — 
[To  Phebe]  Nor  ne'er  wed  woman,  if  you  be  not  she. 

1  A  stalking-horse  is  a  horse,  or  the  semblance  of  one,  by  means  of  which 
the  sportsman  conceals  himself  from  his  prey. 

2  "  Atone  together,"  i.e.,  harmonize.  3  Tlie  god  of  marriage. 


i 


"ENE   IV.] 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT. 


99 


Hymen,    Peace,  ho  !  I  bar  confusion. 
'Tis  I  must  make  conclusion 

Of  these  most  strange  events. 
Here's  eight  that  must  take  hands 
To  join  in  Hymen's  bands, 

If  truth  holds  true  contents'. — 
You  and  you  no  cross  shall  part  ;— 
You  and  you  are  heart  in  heart ; — 
You  to  his  love  must  accord. 
Or  have  a  woman  to  your  lord ; — 
You  and  you  are  sure  together. 
As  the  winter  to  foul  weather, — 
Whiles  a  wedlock  hymn  we  sing, 
Feed  yourselves  with  questioning ; 
That  reason  wonder  may  diminish, 
How  thus  we  met,  and  these  things  finish. 

Song. 

Wedding  is  great  Juno's  cro'W7i ; 

O  blessed  bond  of  board  and  bed! 
'  Tis  Hymen  peoples  every  town  ; 

High  wedlock  then  be  honored. 
Honor,  high  honor  and  renown. 
To  Hymen,  god  of  every  town  / 

Duke  S.    O  my  dear  niece,  welcome  thou  art  to  me  !• 
Even  daughter,  welcome,  in  no  less  degree. 

Phebe.    I  will  not  eat  my  word,  now  thou  art  mine; 
Thy  faith  my  fancy  to  thee  doth  combine.^ 


Enter  Jaques  de  Bois. 

Jaques de  Bois.    Let  me  have  audience  for  a  word  or  two. 
I  am  the  second  son  of  old  Sir  Rowland, 
That  bring  these  tidings  to  this  fair  assembly. 

1  Bind. 


TOO  SHAKESPEARE.  [ACr  V, 

Duke  Frederick,  hearing  how  that  every  day 
Men  of  great  worth  resorted  to  this  forest, 
Address'd  ^  a  mighty  power ;  which  were  on  foot, 
In  his  own  conduct,  purposely  to  take 
His  brother  here  and  put  him  to  the  sword ; 
And  to  the  skirts  of  this  wild  wood  he  came. 
Where  meeting  with  an  old  religious  man, 
After  some  question  2  with  him,  was  converted 
Both  from  his  enterprise  and  from  the  world, 
His  crown  bequeathing  to  his  banish'd  brother, 
And  all  their  lands  restor'd  to  them  again 
That  were  with  him  exil'd.     This  to  be  true, 
I  do  engage  my  life. 

Duke  S.  Welcome,  young  man; 

Thou  offer'st  fairly  to  thy  brothers'  wedding. 
To  one  his  lands  withheld,  and  to  the  other 
A  land  itself  at  large,  a  potent  dukedom. 
First,  in  this  forest  let  us  do  those  ends 
That  here  were  well  begun  and  well  begot ; 
And  after,  every  of  this  happy  number 
That  have  endur'd  shrewd  "^  days  and  nights  with  us 
Shall  share  the  good  of  our  returned  fortune, 
According  to  the  measure  of  their  states. 
Meantime,  forget  this  new-fall'n  dignity, 
And  fall  into  our  rustic  revelry.  — 
Play,  music  !  —  And  you,  brides  and  bridegrooms  all, 
With  measure  heap'd  in  joy,  to  the  measures  fall. 

Jaques.    Sir,  by  your  patience.  —  If  I  heard  you  rightly, 
The  Duke  hath  put  on  a  religious  life 
And  thrown  into  neglect  the  pompous  court  ? 

Jaques  de  Bois.    He  hath. 

Jaques.    To  him  will  I ;  out  of  these  convertites^ 
There  is  much  matter  to  be  heard  and  learn'd. — 
[  To  Duke\  You  to  your  former  honor  I  bequeath  ; 

1  Made  ready.  -  Discourse.  3  Evil.  *  Converts. 


SCENE  IV.]  AS    YOU  LIKE  IT.  lOI 

Your  patience  and  your  virtue  well  deserves  it.  — 

\To  Orlando]  You  to  a  love  that  your  true  faith  doth  merit. — 

[To  Oliver]  You  to  your  land  and  love  and  great  allies. — 

[To  Sih'ius]  You  to  a  long  and  well-deserved  bed. — 

[To  Touchstone]  And  you  to  wrangling;  for  thy  loving  voyage 

Is  but  for  two  months  victual'd.  —  So,  to  your  pleasures; 

I  am  for  other  than  for  dancing  measures. 

Duke  S.    Stay,  Jaques,  stay. 

Jaques.  To  see  no  pastime  I ;  what  you  would  have  I'll  stay 
to  know  at  your  abandon'd  cave.  [Exit. 

Duke  S.    Proceed,  proceed ;  we  will  begin  these  rites, 
As  we  do  trust  they'll  end,  in  true  delights.  [A  dance. 

Epilogue. 

Rosalind.  It  is  not  the  fashion  to  see  the  lady  the  epilogue; 
but  it  is  no  more  unhandsome  than  to  see  the  lord  the  prologue. 
If  it  be  true  that  good  wine  needs  no  bush,i  'tis  true  that  a  good 
play  needs  no  epilogue ;  yet  to  good  wine  they  do  use  good 
bushes,  and  good  plays  prove  the  better  by  the  help  of  good 
epilogues.  What  a  case  am  I  in,  then,  that  am  neither  a  good 
epilogue  nor  cannot  insinuate  with  you  in  the  behalf  of  a  good 
play  !  I  am  not  furnish'd  ^  like  a  beggar,  therefore  to  beg  will 
not  become  me.  My  way  is  to  conjure  you ;  and  I'll  begin  with 
the  women.  I  charge  you,  O  women,  for  the  love  you  bear  to 
men,  to  like  as  much  of  this  play  as  please  you; — and  I  charge 
you,  O  men,  for  the  love  you  bear  to  women  —  as  I  perceive,  by 
your  simpering,  none  of  you  hates  them  —  that  between  you  and 
the  women  the  play  may  please.     If  I  were  a  woman  "^  I  would 

1  "Good  wine,"  etc.  "  It  appears  formerly  to  have  been  the  custom  to 
hang  a  tuft  of  ivy  at  the  door  of  a  vintner.  I  suppose  ivy  was  chosen  rather 
than  any  other  plant  as  it  has  relation  to  Bacchus."  (Steevens's  note,  quoted 
by  Furness.) 

2  Dressed. 

3  There  were  no  actresses  on  the  stage  in  England  before  the  time  of 


ro2  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

kiss  as  many  of  you  as  had  beards  that  pleased  me,  complexions 
that  lik'd  me,^  and  breaths  that  I  defied  not ;  ^  and,  I  am  sure, 
as  many  as  have  good  beards  or  good  faces  or  sweet  breaths  will, 
for  my  kind  offer,  when  I  make  curtsy,  bid  me  farewell. 

\Exeunt. 

Charles  II.  Women's  parts  in  plays  were  performed  by  men.  Samuel  Pepys 
has  this  note  in  his  Diary:  "  January  3,  1660. — To  the  theater,  where  was 
acted  The  Beggar's  Bush,  it  being  very  well  done ;  and  here,  the  first  time 
that  ever  I  saw  a  woman  come  upon  the  stage." 

1  "  That  lik'd  me,"  i.e.,  that  I  liked. 

2  "  That  I  defied  not,"  i.e.,  that  were  not  repulsive  to  me. 


A    HISTORY    OF    ENGLISH 
LITERATURE 

By  REUBEN  POST  HALLECK,  M.  A.  (Yale),  Louisville 
Male  High  School 

$I.2S 


H 


ATURE  traces  the  development  of  that  literature  from 
the  earliest  times  to  the  present  in  a  concise,  interesting, 
and  stimulating  manner.  Although  the  subject  is  presented 
so  clearly  that  it  can  be  readily  comprehended  by  high  school 
pupils,  the  treatment  is  sufficiently  philosophic  and  suggestive 
for  any  student  beginning  the  study. 

^  The  book  is  a  history  of  literature,  and  not  a  mere  col- 
lection of  biographical  sketches.  Only  enough  of  the  facts 
of  an  author's  life  are  given  to  make  students  interested  in 
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in  literature,  receive  treatment  commensurate  with  theii 
importance. 

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INTRODUCTION     TO 
AMERICAN    LITERATURE        i 

li.oo 

By  BRANDER  MATTHEWS,  A.M.,  LL.B.,  Professor 
of  Literature,  Columbia  University 


PRESIDENT  ROOSEVELT,  in  an  extended  and  af- 
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COMPOSITION-RHETORIC 

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By  STRATTON  D.  BROOKS,  Superintendent  of  Schools, 
Boston,  Mass.,  and  MARIETTA  HUBBARD,  for^ 
merly  English  Department,  High  School,    La  Salle,  111. 


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DEFOE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  PLAGUE  IN  LONDON 
DE  QUINCEY'S  REVOLT  OF  THE  TARTARS 
DRYDEN'S  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE 
EMERSON'S  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR,  SELF-RELIANCE, 

SATION . 

FRANKLIN'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY     .... 

GEORGE  ELIOT'S  SILAS  MARNER 

GOLDSMITHS  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD  and  DESERTED 

GRAY'S  POEMS— Selections 

IRVING'S  SKETCH-BOOK— Selections       . 

IRVING'S  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELER 

MACAULAY'S  ESSAY  ON  ADDISON 

MACAULAY'S  ESSAY  ON  MILTON 

MACAULAY'S  LIFE  OF  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

MILTON'S  L'ALLEGRO,  IL  PENSEROSO,  COMUS,  LYCIDAS 

MIL    'JN'S  PARADISE  LOST— Books  I  and  II  . 

i'OPLS  HOMER'S  ILIAD— Books  I,  VI,  XXII,  XXIV 

I'OPV  >  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK  and  ESSAY  ON  MAN 

SCOTT'S  ABBOT       .... 

SCOTT'S  IVANHOE. 

SCOTT'S  LADY  OF  THE  LAKb       . 

SCOTT'S  MARMION 

SCOTT'S  WOODSTOCK  . 

SHAKESPEARE'S  AS  YOU   LIKE  IT 

SHAKESPEARE'S  HAMLET       . 

SHAKESPEARE'S  JULIUS  CAESAR  . 

SHAKESPEARE'S  MACBETH     . 

SHAKESPEARE'S  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE     . 

SHAKESPEARE'S  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM 

SHAKESPEARE'S  TWELFTH  NIGHT       . 

SOUTHEY'S  LIFE  OF  NELSON 

TENNYSON'S  IDYLLS  OF  THE  KING— Selections 

TENNYSON'S  PRINCESS 

THACKERAY'S  HENRY  ESMOND    . 

WASHINGTON'S  FAREWELL  ADDRESS  and  WEBSTER'S  FIRST 

BUNKER  HILL  ORATION  . 
WEBSTER'S  BUNKER  HILL  ORATIONS 
WORDSWORTH'S  POEMS— Selections     . 


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